Giving Up
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: She shook her head. And broke his heart. Like he'd always known she would. GSR, Complete
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Characters contained withing do not belong to me because if they did, we'd have seen some GS smoochies by now. 

Author's Notes: I'm sorry to anyone who read my email story and was looking forward to reading more. I took it off the site after I was threatened with being reported. I might repost it someday because there's absolutely nothing in the TOS that forbade it, but for now, I offer you something more...usual. Thanks for reading;)

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

He hadn't lost his hearing, but he had lost something much worse.

It had been bothering her for a long time. Catherine Willows, infamous for her maternal intuitions, had known something was wrong with her dear friend and co-worker, perhaps as far back as the morning he'd woken up after the surgery that had saved him from a lifetime of silence. But it wasn't something she could put a finger on, or define in absolute terms. There was no scientific method for figuring out Gil Grissom.

She only knew that the man who stood in front of her now was not the man she'd known five years earlier.

"Catherine? Have you heard any of this?"

Blinking twice, she focused in on his face. "Of course," she lied. "Every word."

Grissom's eyebrow lifted just enough to indicate that he did not believe her. "Good. Then you don't mind?"

Although she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, Catherine shook her head. "I don't mind at all." She paused. "What is it that I don't mind?"

He managed to sigh and smile at the same time as he folded his arms across his chest. "Feeding Huck and Tom while I'm in Chicago." When she said nothing, he elaborated. "All you have to do is toss in a couple of crickets and check to make sure their water doesn't get too low. I'll only be gone for two days."

"There's no one else in this entire building…in this entire city who could do this but me?" That would teach her to zone out when Grissom started talking about his pets. "What about Greg?"

"Greg has arachnophobia. Or so he claimed when I asked him."

"Nick? Warrick?" She threw him a desperate look. "What about Sara? Anybody!"

"I trust you," Grissom said simply.

"Oh, but Sara's going to let your cockroaches starve, is that it?" Catherine threw up her hands. "Fine, fine. I'll feed the disgusting little beasts. But if any one of them even thinks about escaping, I will Raid them out of existence, are we clear, Gilbert?"

He chuckled. "Mother Catherine, patron of all exoskeletoned creatures."

"Careful there. Someone might accuse you of having regained your sense of humor."

Almost instantly, a shadow crossed his face and his smile faded. "Yes. Well, thank you, Catherine."

She reached out a hand to stop him before he left her office. It was a rare thing for them to get a chance to talk now that they no longer worked together. "Hey, I didn't mean…you know."

"It's all right."

"Is it?" Catherine cocked her head to one side and studied him. Although the beard he'd kept in the past couple of years did him a service, the slight slump in his shoulders made him look years older than he was. He'd always been a science nerd, but now he seemed like a character of one, not the surprising antithesis he'd once been. "Are you all right?"

The question caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "I'm just looking at you…and I'm wondering why I haven't noticed before."

"Noticed what?"

"You look old."

Annoyance shone through his eyes more than hurt. "Thank you again, Catherine. On that note, I'm on the clock now. Have a good night."

"Grissom!" Catherine chased him down the hall. Halfway to the DNA lab, she caught up with him. "You know I didn't mean it to come out like that."

"It's hard to make 'you look old' come out any other way."

She tossed her hair out of her eyes. "Okay, true, but let me explain. It's not so much that you look old. Hell, I found three new lines around my eyes the other night and I nearly called in sick. I'm not one to talk about aging. But you…you just look too old. Older than you should."

"Catherine." He was using his patient tone, the one he reserved for new lab techs and students at his seminars. "I'm forty-eight."

"Hardly ready for the nursing home just yet." She pulled him into an empty room to escape the bustle of the hallway. "Have you really looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

"'Vanity plays lurid tricks.' Joseph Conrad."

"You're not going to quote your way out of this one. You've changed, Gil Grissom. I can't say exactly when it happened, but in the past couple of years you've gone from loving life to just trying to get through it."

Grissom looked away for a moment. "We're all just trying to get through it. Some of us merely exist better than others."

Catherine planted her hands on her hips. "You've just got an answer for everything, don't you?"

At that precise moment, like some otherworldly force was working against her, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. "Grissom." A moment passed. "Yes, I'm her supervisor. What's this about?"

She watched the blood drain from his face, and at the pit of her stomach, she knew something was seriously wrong.

"Where did they take her?" he said, biting off the words like they tasted bad in his mouth. "I'll be right there."

"What's happened?" Catherine swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "Gil?"

He tucked his phone away and cleared his throat. "Sara's been in an accident and they took her to Desert Palm. I was her emergency contact, apparently." Grissom looked up at the ceiling. "I'm supposed to…"

"Go," Catherine urged him. "I'll cover for you."

All he seemed able to do was nod. He kept nodding even as he turned and walked away, his shoulders hunched over even more than usual, his walk unsteady. It was how he had looked as he'd walked into his surgery. Scared. Scared and beaten down by things over which he'd had no control.

That was it. Catherine nearly laughed out loud from the sheer simplicity of the concept that had escaped her for so long. That was what had happened to Gil Grissom. His hearing had been saved, but his spark, his life force, the joie de vie that had once made him so much fun to be around…he'd lost it.

And suddenly, Catherine was very afraid.

* * *

Greg Sanders was fairly certain that the accident was his fault. If his car hadn't broken down, he wouldn't have had to call Sara for a ride to work. If he hadn't been alone with her in her car, he wouldn't have had the nerve to ask her out to dinner. And if he hadn't asked her out to dinner, she wouldn't have been distracted and would have seen the other car as it ran the red light and slammed into them. 

Sure, the careless driver was to blame too, but he'd had a hand in putting Sara in the hospital.

He sat in the waiting area just off the ER, his hands shaking. No one would tell him anything. They'd just taken his name and put him on a triage list to have the laceration on his forehead stitched as soon as possible. Fortunately, it had stopped bleeding and was now just a dull, throbbing pain. He'd been lucky.

Sara had not.

Greg dragged his fingers through his spiky mess of hair and found it sticky with blood. His blood and Sara's. He must have looked like something out a horror movie. That would explain why that man at the entrance was staring at him.

"Shit," he muttered when he recognized the man as his boss. "Grissom."

"What happened?" the older man demanded as soon as he reached the bank of chairs upon which Greg was seated.

"Driver ran a red light on Tropicana." Saying it out loud only refreshed the agony of those moments. "Sara was driving. Car was T-boned on her side." A moment passed. "It's my fault."

"Were you the other driver?"

"No. But…"

"Then it wasn't your fault." Grissom sat next to him. "Why wasn't it you calling me, instead of some nurse?"

Greg shifted and looked away. "No reason," he mumbled.

"Greg."

He sucked in a breath and blew it out all at once. "Sara…before she passed out…she asked me not to call you." Grissom said nothing, prompting him to keep going. "I think she was afraid you might think it was her fault. 'Cause of her less than stellar recent driving record."

Grissom suddenly seemed very interested in the spotless, sterile floor. "You know about that?"

"Yeah, she told me." Greg grinned, despite the situation. "Hey, we've faced death together twice now. In some African tribes, we'd already be married." His boss shot him a sharp look, but he didn't see it. "Damn, she'd better be all right," he whispered.

"Sara is one of the most stubborn women I've ever known. I'm sure she'll be just fine."

His words sounded like they were said more to convince himself than anyone else, so Greg let them go without comment. He was almost relieved when, a few minutes later, a physician's assistant took him away to get stitched up. When he returned, feeling no pain from the blissful shot of lidocane he'd been given, Grissom was still sitting in the exact same spot.

"Any word yet?" he asked.

The older man looked up. "They're keeping her overnight for observation. She has a concussion, two cracked ribs, a broken arm and a lot of cuts and bruises. She won't be able to work for at least a week, but she'll be fine."

Greg nearly whooped. "Can we go see her? Where'd they take her?"

"Upstairs." Grissom paused. "1124. You go ahead."

"You're not coming?"

His boss stood up. "No, I don't think so. Tell her I hope she feels better and that I expect not to see her for a week, no exceptions."

Greg frowned. "I bet she'd like you to at least stop in and tell her this yourself."

"It's all right, Greg. Go take care of her."

When Grissom looked back, Greg was already waiting at the elevators.

* * *

Sara Sidle didn't hate hospitals. She spent too much time in labs and morgues to let the acrid smell of cleansers get to her. And hospitals were where you went to get better. They were just fine in her book. Until she woke up in one. 

"Ow," was her first thought and her first word as the darkness gave way to consciousness. "My head hurts."

"That's what you get when you slam it into my shoulder." Greg's too-cheerful voice forced her to open her eyes. He was rubbing the allegedly wounded body part. "Careful next time, okay?"

"Wont't be a next time," Sara grimaced. "Never driving again." She tried to lick her lips but her mouth was too dry. "Water?"

He was right there, with a cup and a straw. "That's the morphine you're on. Gives you dry-tongue."

After swallowing a few sips, she took a good look at him. "You were hurt."

"Just a cut," Greg shrugged. "And my shoulder, of course, which is just agony from your rock-hard head slamming into it."

"Of course." Sara closed her eyes for a second. "I'm so sorry, Greg."

"Hey, Grissom wouldn't let me blame myself, and I won't let you blame yourself. It wasn't our…"

Her eyes opened again. "Grissom's here?"

He held up his hands, deflecting her betrayed look. "I didn't call him. You must have him as a contact number or something."

She did. And the fact that she did made her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Great," she muttered. "Another Sara-mistake that he gets dragged out to witness first-hand." With a sigh that made her wince in pain, Sara gestured to the door. "Find out his heart-rate before he comes in. I need to know how mad he is."

Greg fidgeted with the cords on his hooded sweatshirt.

"Greg?" The pain already present in her chest doubled when he refused to meet her eyes. "Grissom already left. Didn't he?"

"I'm sure he wanted to stay, but he had lab stuff to do. You know."

"Yeah. I know."

"So…" He rocked back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. "This was kind of a dramatic way of turning down a dinner invitation."

The corners of Sara's lips turned up. "I'm sorry, Greg."

"Oh." He stopped. "You are turning me down."

"I'm…" Sara hesitated, searching for the right words. "I'm not."

"You're not?"

His tone was too hopeful. "I'm postponing the subject. At least until the room stops spinning."

Greg nodded. "Ah. I see."

She glanced down at the fresh cast on her arm. Her arm must have been broken in the crash, although all she could remember was a searing pain shooting down from her elbow. She could also feel bruises forming all over her body and she suspected that tomorrow she'd be lucky if she was able to blink. But she was alive after a crash that could have easily been fatal.

And where was Grissom? At arm's length. As usual.

"You know what? Forget postponing. Let's have dinner."

He took a literal step back. "Wow. Really?" Greg cocked an eyebrow at her. "Is this the drugs speaking?"

Sara laughed and it hurt like hell. "Ow. Stop doing that thing with your eyebrows. I'm not drugged. It's just…it's a nice offer, Greg. Maybe the nicest I've had in a long time." His glee was infectious and she had to smile around the cut on her upper lip. "But can we wait until…"

"You've healed, of course!" Greg stepped up to the side of her bed, took her unwrapped hand and kissed the back of it in a move that would have made her snort with laughter had he not been so determined to be gallant. "I should probably check in at work, let everyone know what happened. Expect some serious visitors in the next couple of hours."

"Greg," she called out after he reached the door and pulled it open. "Thanks. For being here." Giving her a hearty wink, he left.

Alone in the beige box of a room, Sara released a pent-up breath. What had her PEAP counselor told her? To focus on what was real and not what could be. She wasn't entirely sure she could ever seen Greg as more than a friend, but his invitation had been real, and certainly not just in her imagination.

It was more than she could say for anything that had ever happened between her and Grissom.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Characters belong to big, important people at CBS, not lil' ol' me. 

Authors Notes: Thanks for the feedback everyone! Being new to this community of writers, I appreciate it very much.

* * *

Giving Up by

Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Let me go

And I will want you more

- Cake

* * *

Exactly one week after the accident, Sara walked into the Las Vegas Crime Lab sporting a cast on her left arm and a fresh smile on her face. The time she'd been forced to stay at home and recuperate had proved to be exactly what she needed. Her bruises had nearly faded away, her ribs no longer hurt with every movement and she had figured out what to do about Grissom.

Get over him.

"Sara!" Nick Stokes jogged out of the print lab when he saw her pass by the glass wall. "What are you doing here?"

"I was on leave for a week, Nick. The week's up." She pointed to the sling holding her arm motionless. "This won't come off for another month. And if you expect me to take an entire month off…"

He laughed, giving in. "Perish the thought. It's good to have you back."

"Good to be back."

"Sara, are you really okay?"

She hadn't realized she'd been staring into space until he snapped her out of it. "I'm sorry. Yeah…yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking…and I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For coming to the hospital to visit me. For bringing flowers." Sara shrugged her right shoulder. "For being a friend."

Nick patted his chest in a mock sob. "Sara Sidle, I'm touched and flattered."

"Get out of here," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"On my way out." He backed up, heading for the locker room. "Have a good shift. Don't go pushing yourself, hear me?"

Sara flicked a salute. Once he was gone, she smiled and started for the break room. Her good mood took a nose-dive when she walked in and found Sophia sitting at the table, sipping coffee and reading a book.

The newest member of the graveyard shift looked up as Sara entered. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." It was a polite exchange, and fortunately over in seconds. Sara retrieved her mug from the cabinet and filled it with water. She was still on pain meds and preferred not to mix them with her usual caffeine intake. As she heated the water up in preparation to make tea, Greg bounded into the room.

"Hey, Sara," he greeted her with a huge, friendly smile. "We've missed you!"

"Now how is that possible?" Sara fumbled with a box of green tea bags; it was damn hard to open one with just one hand. "We've spoken almost every day since the accident."

Greg took the box from her, opened it and extracted one bag as he replied, "Not the same. It's been…" He glanced at Sophia. "…quiet around here without you."

"What are you working on?"

"Nothing exciting. A B&E, two assaults and a Quickie-Mart hold-up." Greg shot her a wicked grin. "Serious crime took a break in honor of you."

Sara shook head, amused. "Some honor."

Sophia looked up from her book just then. "It's been my experience that when there's a calm, a storm usually follows."

"A proven hypothetical." Grissom crossed the threshold as she spoke, two manila folders in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. "It's going to be a long night for us all."

The microwave beeped and Sara removed her tea from it. If he'd noticed her, he hadn't given any indication of it. She took a sip and burned her tongue. It was like she'd never been gone.

"Sophia, you're with Greg. A home invasion gone awry. One confirmed dead." He handed her the top folder. "Let him do the majority of the processing."

She pursed her lips as though the order was displeasing, but nodded.

Grissom turned to Sara, acknowledging her for the first time since he'd entered the room. "Sara, you and I have a decomp in the desert."

"Great." She indicated her cast. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"Not unless it's a problem."

Sara frowned. "Okay…"

Their supervisor set down his coffee. "Let's get to it."

* * *

With the blinding Vegas lights disappearing behind them, Grissom guided his SUV off the main highway and onto a rocky dirt road. He hit a pothole and the car jerked.

"Sorry," he said when Sara drew in a sharp breath.

"It's okay. Still just a little tender in some spots."

She'd brought up the accident and now it lay out in the open between them. Grissom glanced at her. Sara sat up straight in the passenger's seat, her belt buckled securely over her slender hips. She stared ahead, her chin level and her expression neutral.

"Sara, I want to apologize for not visiting you in the…"

"You had your reasons. And you don't owe me any apologies." She hesitated. "For anything."

Grissom clenched the wheel a little harder. She had a frustrating habit of letting him off the hook when he really needed to say something. "Just because I had reasons doesn't mean they were good reasons."

She turned her head to look out the window at the dark landscape. "There were reasons. That's enough."

"I sent a card," he offered.

"From the whole lab." He thought he heard her chuckle, but the sound seemed too bitter to come from her. "It was a nice gesture."

He ran one hand through his salt and pepper hair. "I'm just glad you're all right."

"You know what?" Sara looked at him with such intensity that it made him slightly uncomfortable. "I am all right. I think the accident was one of the better things that could have happened to me."

There were lights up ahead on the road, signaling their approach to the crime scene. Grissom eased his foot off the gas. They needed more time. "What do you mean? You could have been killed, Sara."

"Oh, so you noticed that?" Sarcasm was a tonic for her bruised heart; she continued, "The last time I could have been killed, it prompted me to make one of the biggest mistakes of my life. This time, I know better. This time I'm actually taking my second chance at life."

He had to hit the brakes. They had arrived. Grissom put the car in park and twisted in his seat to see her better. "Sara, I…"

She pushed open her door with her good arm and jumped out, ignoring him. In the headlight beams, Grissom could see Brass standing with a couple of uniformed officers. Sara headed straight for them. "What have we got?" he read her lips.

He sat for another second before turning off the ignition. Once he had retrieved both of their field kits from the back seat, he joined the group of investigators gathered around the body.

"Second stage pupa," he heard himself observing. The mass of maggots would keep him occupied for quite some time.

Thank god for insects and their predictability. If only humans could be more like them.

* * *

Several hours later, Sara found herself in the middle of a daunting task, made even more difficult by the fact that she only had use of one hand. Grissom had assigned her to go over the victim's tattered clothes for any trace, an assignment that required concentration and a lot of time. She was just grateful for the break from him. It was hard to stick to all her new resolves when he stood right by her side, just a little closer than a boss probably should. He didn't even seem to realize he was doing it.

Perhaps that was the most frustrating part.

Shaking her head cleared away her thoughts and Sara focused on the skirt and blouse in front of her. The stench was incredible, but she'd encountered worse. Breathing through her mouth, she set herself to the job.

She had no idea how much time passed before a knock at the open door broke her concentration, but when she stood up straight, the muscles in her neck began to ache.

"I'm sorry to interrupt." Sofia stood, waiting to be recognized. "How's it coming?"

"It stinks." Sara tilted her head to one side and heard her neck crack. "Literally. Two weeks on a dead body in the desert is something no detergent can ever get out."

"Next time you bathe, use lemons."

"You know, I have been doing this for awhile," Sara snapped.

The blonde woman held up her hands. "I'm aware."

"We do know a few tricks of the trade on graveyard; they're not exclusive to days."

Sophia smiled coolly. "Let's not cat-fight. Greg would enjoy that too much."

"Greg's really not a complete horn-dog," Sara said, suddenly defensive. "He's much more intelligent than he sometimes lets on."

"I believe it. Gil would never turn out a CSI who wasn't."

The use of Grissom's first name and the fact that it was Sophia who used it with such casual intimacy rankled Sara to the point where she nearly snapped her magnifying glass in half. "Did you want something? I have a lot of work here."

"Actually I wanted to confirm something before it became office gossip." Sophia took a step towards the lighted work table. "Are you dating Greg?"

Sara considered her answer for a moment. No matter what she told the woman, it was bound to get back to Grissom by way of the grapevine…or straight from the lioness's mouth. "We have dinner plans."

"Congratulations," the other woman said with an unsettling twinkle in her eye. "He is quite cute. A bit on the young side, but if you like that…"

"Age doesn't matter to me."

"To me, as well." Sophia pulled her straw-colored ponytail over her shoulder. "Although I've always preferred older men to younger."

"Fascinating." Sara returned her attention to the stained clothes. "Shouldn't you be supervising Greg?"

"I suppose I should." She backed up out of the room. "Good luck with that."

Even after she was gone, Sara could not get back her concentration. It was only after ten minutes of staring at a short strand of hair clinging to the fabric of the dead woman's skirt that she reached for a pair of tweezers to collect it.

"Pubic hair," she mused as she held it up to the light. "Raped, murdered and dumped in the desert. Life's a bitch and then you die."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. Sigh. 

Author's Notes: Thanks for the feedback; I've really appreciated it;) Hope you're enjoying the story!

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Knock, knock."

Grissom jerked his head up from its resting place on his palm. For the past half hour he'd been staring at the same sentence on Doc Robbins' preliminary report concerning the Jane Doe from the desert, and he realized, as he was startled back to the real world, that he had yet to actually read it.

Without waiting for an invitation, Sophia slid into his office. "Got a minute?"

"Just," he replied, closing up the report. "I'm late for an autopsy."

"I promise not to keep you." She perched herself on the edge of his desk and crossed one long leg over the other. "You'll be happy to know that Greg did very well tonight. He's in the middle of mapping out the scene as we speak."

"Grunt work?"

Sophia smiled sweetly. "There's only one way to learn."

Grissom stood and began gathering up the papers spread out all around him. "As long as you remember what it felt like to be the lowest on the totem pole."

"I was never the lowest on the totem pole, Gil." She considered him for a second. "I somehow doubt you were either."

He shook his head. "I can't remember that far back."

Sophia waved her hand, dismissing the comment. "You talk as though you're old or something."

"Getting older every day." He dug his hands into the pockets of his dark blue jacket. "Was there something you needed, Sophia?"

"Not especially. I just like your office. It's so much more…personal than Conrad's."

"I didn't realize Ecklie was on a first name basis with anyone."

Sophia shrugged. "He's not a complete ogre." Grissom's eyebrow lifted. "All the time," she amended. "Aren't you on a first name basis with the rest of your team?"

"You know that we're not…"

"Not even Sara?"

He released a breath. "The naming of cats is a difficult matter." Sophia frowned. "T.S. Elliot."

"Perhaps. But I call you by your first name. And Sara calls Greg by his first name. Of course, they're dating, so it's understandable."

Grissom cleared his throat. "I don't pay attention to office gossip."

"But it's not gossip." Sophia watched him with a keen eye. "I confirmed it with Sara herself."

"Well…" He picked up his reports and gathered them against his chest like a shield. "Good for them."

Sophia slipped off the edge of the desk. "You're not surprised? I was. I thought the employee fraternization rules were fairly strict."

"They're professionals. And neither one of them is superior to the other." He started for the door. "It's not a problem as far as I'm concerned."

"So, it's only against policy for a supervisor to get romantically involved with anyone beneath him? Or her?" she asked. When he said nothing, Sophia smiled. "My luck, I suppose. A couple of months ago I could have asked you out."

Grissom stared at her for a few long seconds. "Go check on Greg, Sophia." With that, he left.

Sophia folded her arms across her linen suit. "Whatever you say, Gil."

* * *

Sara cursed herself all the way to the autopsy room. Her stubbornness would be her undoing. It was the reason she had left her pain pills at her apartment before coming in to work. She had been determined to work with a completely clear mind, but now she knew that pain could make her thoughts just as fuzzy as a drug could.

Her arm ached so badly that she had to bite her lip to distract herself from thinking about it. All she wanted to do was go home, knock herself out, and wake up when her left forearm was back in one piece. Unfortunately, before she could do that, she had a date with Doc Robbins at Jane Doe's autopsy.

She paused outside the metal doors to drape an apron over her neck and to collect herself. If she walked in looking like she felt, Grissom would pick up on it. And then it would be another week of sitting at home watching infomercials and soap operas. Truly hell on earth, and far worse than a few aches and pains. Sara sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly, counting to ten as she went. With her bravado mustered, she pushed open the door.

The scent of decaying flesh hit her like a shockwave, made all the more nauseating by the underlying smell of formaldehyde. She fought back her initial gag reflex and addressed the two men hunched over the body.

"Any ID yet?"

Both of them looked up at her, but only one of them acknowledged her for longer than that brief second. Grissom returned his attention to the body, but Doc Robbins gave her a half-smile of greeting and answered her question with a simple, "I'm afraid not. No tattoos, no scars. I've sent out x-rays of her teeth, but it could be awhile before we hear anything back. For now, she's just Jane."

Sara walked up to the exam table on which the rotting corpse lay in silent repose. "How did Jane die?"

"Bruising around her throat…"

Grissom cut him off. "Sara, why aren't you in scrubs?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Standard procedure for an autopsy, especially on a decomp. You've done this a hundred times, Sara." He fixed a hard look on her from over the rim of his glasses. "So, I repeat. Why aren't you in scrubs?"

Sara's face burned with equal parts of anger and shame. Being reprimanded was embarrassing enough, but to have a witness to her dressing down was excruciating. "I…I couldn't tie one on…with just one arm," she informed him through clenched teeth. "I put on an apron."

"An apron does nothing to stop contamination. Until you can follow proper procedures, you can stay out of the autopsy room."

"Gil, it's not necessary to…" the elderly ME started to defend her.

"No, it's fine." Sara lifted her chin. "I said that my injury wouldn't be a problem, and apparently it's become one. Grissom's obviously got this covered without me." She lifted the plastic apron from around her neck and flung it at her boss. "I have a pubic hair running through CODIS. Excuse me."

Doc Robbins sighed as Sara stalked out of the room. "That could have been avoided. The odds of contamination were quite slim."

Grissom balled up the apron and set it aside. "I wasn't willing to take the risk."

"Oh, I know." The older man adjusted his plastic face mask. "You've made that quite clear."

"Procedures are set out for a reason."

"I wasn't talking about…" He sighed again. "Never mind. Let's continue."

"By all means," Grissom shot back.

"The bruising around the neck would seem to indicate strangulation, but she didn't die from asphyxia. My best guess so far, she died of exposure." He paused. "The desert can be a cruel place. Whoever left her out there all alone knew that. Probably counted on it. Why commit murder directly when you can let the elements do it indirectly? Just leave her in the middle of nowhere and eventually the cold, the loneliness, the lack of human contact will do away with her, without any blood on the perpetrator's hands. More malicious, I think, than taking a gun to…"

Grissom ripped off his glasses. "If you want to say something to me, just say it."

"Why, Gil. Are you feeling guilty for something? All I'm doing is telling you what happened to our Jane Doe."

"Of course." Regaining his lost composure, he nodded. "Of course."

* * *

"Shift doesn't start for another nine hours," Warrick Brown muttered to himself, pausing at the door to the employee locker room. "And I'm here. I swear I used to have a life."

Being that it was nearly dawn, he was surprised that the room was deserted. As far as he could tell from his initial examination, no one from the graveyard shift was preparing to leave work, and for that, he was a bit disappointed. He almost never saw Sara or Greg anymore. In fact, it had taken a car accident to get them all together in the same room. Staff changes were one thing, but destroying friendships was something only Ecklie could do.

He opened his locker, shucked off his leather jacket and was about to hang it up in favor of the lab coat he'd need in order to work in the DNA lab when he heard a muffled sob from somewhere behind him. Frowning, Warrick glanced over his shoulder.

"Who's there?" He closed up his locker and walked around the bank of lockers towards the shower stalls. What he saw shocked him. And for Warrick who had seen it all twice, that was saying something. "Sara?"

She was tucked into the far corner of one stall, her body curled up as much as possible with her cast and sling. As he approached, she quickly wiped her face free of any moisture, but her bloodshot eyes gave her away. She'd been crying.

"What are you doing here?"

"Work," Warrick replied. "Are you okay, Sara?"

"I'm fine." She flashed him a forced smile. "It's just been…a long night."

"Must have been. If it had Sara Sidle crying in the locker room."

She swallowed, her smile fading. "Can we just forget about this? Please?"

He changed the subject without answering. "How are you doing? Healing okay? Your arm…"

"Is fine," Sara finished up. "Give me a couple more days, and it'll be like the accident never happened. And if I could prod my insurance company into action, things would be just great."

"Okay." After watching her struggle to get up, he held out his hand for her; she stared at it as though it might bite her at any moment. "Sara, for god's sake, let someone help you once."

Giving in, Sara reached up with her good arm and tentatively placed her hand in his. He guided her up until she was standing. "Thanks, Warrick."

"You're welcome. Now, you gonna tell me what's really got you upset?"

"Trust me. It's not worth going into. Suffice it to say, next time you go into the autopsy room, make sure you're wearing scrubs."

Warrick ran his hand over the top of his head. "Straight over."

"Don't worry about it." Sara started for her locker and he followed, stopping in front of his own. As he donned his coat, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Halfway through the simple task of taking out her purse, she stopped. "Warrick…what would you say if I told you I had a date with Greg?"

"Greg?" He coughed to cover up the sudden urge to laugh. "Seriously? Greg? The dude who actually admitted to dressing up as a Power Ranger?"

"He said it was Halloween."

"He was a senior in college."

Sara's lips twisted into a rueful grin. "Yes, that Greg. What would you say?"

"The Sara I know wouldn't care what I had to say." Warrick paused. "But if she's asking for my advice, rather than my opinion…"

"I'm not! I'm just…"

He held up his hand. "Sara, c'mon. I've been here for the past five years. And unlike some people, I'm not blind."

A moment passed. "What's your advice?"

"Treat his heart like you'd want yours treated."

Sara threw him a sideways glance. "Wow. That was so…Hallmark of you."

"Hey, that gem comes straight from Grammy Brown." Warrick closed up his locker. "I've yet to find a piece of her advice that hasn't proven useful."

"I'm sure." She draped her bag across her good shoulder. "You don't think it's wrong somehow? Me going out with Greg?"

"I think it's more wrong for a beautiful woman to stay home on Saturday nights, eating take-out and flipping through catalogs."

Sara nodded curtly. "And if I see a beautiful woman doing that, I'll put a stop to it." Before he could come up with a retort, she reached out and touched his arm in a quick gesture of thanks. "I'm heading out. Should Catherine hear a word of this, I will deny everything. Just so you know."

"Got it," he called to her retreating back. "Hey, Sara." She turned at the door. "Whatever got to you, don't let it keep you down. You're tougher than that."

Dipping her head slightly, she left the locker room…and ran straight into Grissom.

Sara instinctively backed up against the door, shutting it with the force of her body. "Sorry." She took a breath. "I should have looked first."

"It's all right." Grissom noted her bag. "You're leaving? It's not six yet."

"Are you going to write me up for fifteen minutes?" Sara lifted her eyes to meet his blue ones, challenging him.

"Of course not." He sighed and rubbed his temple. "Sara, I know you're upset about earlier. I probably should have…"

"I found a hair on our vic's skirt," she blurted out. "Ran it through CODIS. One hit, an unknown from a desert dump job two years ago. It was Sophia's case."

"Good job. Now will you let me apolo…"

"So I'm thinking, it might be a good idea if you switched us around. I'll supervise Greg, and you can team up with Sophia. If it's a serial, she'll know the most about the first victim."

He stared at her. "You want to be taken off our case?"

"I'm sure Sophia won't mind the switch. She wasn't exactly thrilled about playing teacher to him."

"But you've got no problem with it yourself?" Grissom asked. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

"You are dating Greg. Aren't you?"

The question lingered long after he'd posed it. Sara searched Grissom's familiar face for any signs of emotion. Anger, jealousy, encouragement…there was nothing there. He was a blank slate. He could have been for it, it could have been against it. There was no way to know.

"Yes," she finally replied. "I am."

"Second chance at life?"

"Something like that."

He looked up at the ceiling for the briefest of moments. "Good luck. I hope it works out."

They stood still for another endless minute, as though neither one of them wanted to walk away first. After what seemed like a lifetime, Sara shook her head with weary acceptance. "Something ought to…right?" She pushed off the door and backed away from him. "I've got to be worth the risk to someone."

She half-hoped to hear his footsteps following her, but when Sara burst out of the lab into the new light of dawn, she was alone. She'd taken a cab to work, she realized immediately, and would need to call for another one to take her home. "Damnit!!"

"Sara!" Greg jogged out of the building just then like a savior in a blue lab coat. "Need a ride?"

She turned, fighting back hot tears. "Yeah. A ride and some breakfast to go with my Perocet."

He gave her his guileless grin. "Sure thing. Just let me grab my stuff. Don't go anywhere."

"I'm not," Sara whispered when he was gone. "That's sort of my problem."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not, have never, and will never belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Large shout-outs to sweet-baby-lemon, Crystal Wimmer, star-shimmered-dragon, brainfear and Lauren for reading and reveiewing the last chapter. I appreciated your kind comments mucho much, and I hope you keep reading and enjoying!

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"I guess I can scratch grilled eggplant off my list of foods to try." With his fork, Greg pointed at Sara's plate. "If the vegetarian won't even eat it…"

Snapping out of her reverie, Sara looked down at her barely-touched dinner. "Don't blame the eggplant, Greg. It's never done anything to you." She took a big bite, chewed and swallowed. "It's very good."

He grinned. said this was the best restaurant on the Strip for vegetarian food."

"You did research for our date?"

"I eat at McDonald's and a variety of cheap buffets. I wasn't about to take you to a place where your food comes on a plastic tray."

Watching him dig into his meatless meal, Sara couldn't keep a smile off her own face. Whatever else he could be, Greg Sanders was a good guy. He'd cleaned up for their date by donning a coat and tie, but his hair was still in its trademark chunky spikes. Adorable, maybe even someone's definition of "hot."

But just not Sara's type.

"How's your arm feeling?" he asked her out of the blue.

Sara blinked. "No more sling." To demonstrate, she bent her arm back and forth at the elbow. Her forearm was still in a cast, but at least she was halfway back to completely mobile. "And this only stays on for another two weeks."

"We really lucked out, didn't we?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "We did."

Greg continued between bites of his curried vegetables. "But you know, in a way, it wasn't all bad. The accident. I mean, we're here, aren't we? And you've…well, you've been almost happier since it happened. Not bouncing off the walls like me, but you don't look so down anymore."

"I suppose…" She picked up her water glass and lifted it to her lips, but forgot to drink. "…I realized how much I was taking for granted."

"Sara." He set down his fork with a look of determination. Sara busied herself by taking a sip of water. He looked too serious. "You didn't just agree to go out with me because you had a near-death experience or anything? Did you?"

Just then, their waiter appeared. "How is everything?"

"Fine." Sara broke Greg's stare. "Everything's great."

"Can I interest you in our dessert menu?"

Greg shook his head. "No thanks. Just the check, please."

Twenty minutes later, they stepped out of the restaurant and onto the bustling Strip. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, and Sara was instantly grateful for the light black sweater she'd put on over her sleeveless dress.

"Well." She flashed him a bright smile. "What now, Mr. Research?"

"I thought we could just take a walk." He paused. "You know, talk and stuff."

Sara hid a smirk behind her hand. "And stuff, eh?"

It was amazing how quickly his cheeks turned pink. "How long have you lived in Vegas now? Four, five years? Have you ever really looked around it?"

"With a magnifying glass. That's our job."

Greg shook his head. "No. No, not like a scientist. C'mon." He gestured to somewhere down the street before taking off.

"Where are we going?" Sara called out as she followed him. "I'm in heels, Greg!"

"It's not far," he yelled back over the noise of the Strip.

She broke into a jog as his speed doubled. Trying not to think about how ridiculous she looked trying to run in the strappy sandals she'd debated over buying for nearly an hour, Sara kept after him until he stopped. "Greg," she panted. "Have you…ever worn heels?"

"Yes. And don't ask." He pointed across the street. "Look."

From the spot they stood, they had a perfect view of the Mirage's world-famous fountain. Sara had passed by a million times, but never really looked at it. "Wow."

"I love coming here," Greg mused. "It's total Vegas cheese, but there's still something cool about it. And it's free."

The water rose and fell in patterns and swirls and every now and then, Sara felt a cool spray of mist on her face and arms. "Thanks for taking me here, Greg."

When he gently turned her to face him, she knew what was coming, and part of her wanted to stop it. The other half, however, was genuinely curious to see what would happen. Damnit, she thought when his eyes closed and his lips lowered to hers. Curiosity really does kill.

The kiss last no more than five seconds.

With Greg's lips still smashed against hers, Sara cracked one eye open. His were scrunched close in concentration.

"Greg," she said around his mouth.

"Hmm?"

Sara pulled back just enough to escape the kiss. "This isn't working."

"Thank god." Greg's eyes popped open. "I thought it was just me."

A moment passed before Sara burst into laughter. "I have to say, that was the worst kiss I've ever been a part of."

"Ouch." He slapped a hand over his heart. "I'll have you know that with the right girl, I'm known for my mad kissing skills!"

"I'm sure," she assured him, still laughing. "With the right girl."

Greg sighed, but tempered the melancholy with an amused smile. "I really hoped it could be you, Sara. But the kind of awkward we just experienced can only happen between friends."

"Good friends." Sara weaved her arm through his.

"Really?"

"Really." On impulse, she kissed his cheek. "I don't wear heels for people I don't care about at all."

He looked down at her bare legs. "You should wear 'em more often. You'd blow Gris…"

"Don't finish that sentence, friend," she warned.

"But I like to live dangerously."

Sara smiled at him sweetly. "I would get away with your murder, you know."

"Yeah, I'll remember that." He laughed, in spite of the situation. "So, you want ice cream?"

* * *

Grissom poked at the sausage patties sizzling in the skillet. They had seemed like a good idea for a late lunch when he'd woken up from a fitful sleep, but now he couldn't imagine choking down a single bite. Maybe Sara was right about meat; there was a nauseating quality to it.

Snapping off the heat, Grissom set the pan aside and removed the dish towel that was draped over his shoulder. If anyone else confessed to having recurring thoughts about an attractive co-worker, he would be the first to tell him to curb those thoughts. Too bad he couldn't follow his own advice.

Sometimes he almost regretted giving that lecture at Harvard all those years ago. If he hadn't, he never would have met Sara, but then if he'd never met her, she'd never have gotten tangled up in his life. And she would have never been hurt by his shortcomings. She would have been a brilliant physicist and met some other equally young and intelligent physicist and been happy. Happiness. Something he'd never even offered her.

His head ached all of a sudden. Regret was a daily burden that he carried around, and it weighed on him. Maybe that was why Catherine thought he looked older than he should. She had no idea how heavy his load was. Or maybe she did. She was damn perceptive. His best CSI for a long time, after all.

When his doorbell rang at that exact moment, Grissom sighed. It would be Catherine. No one else would drop by his place uninvited. It was like she could tell that he wanted to be alone with his headache and his thoughts, and had decided to make it as difficult for him as possible.

"Are you cooking?" Catherine asked as soon as he answered the door. She whipped off her sunglasses and entered the townhouse, brushing right past him. "I'm starving."

Grissom closed the door. "You didn't eat with Lindsey?"

"She's spending the night at her friend's house," Catherine replied, deep into her quest for food. She spotted the pan and pointed to it. "Sausages?"

"They're cooked and there's English muffins in the breadbox."

"What would I do without you?" With some cheese from the fridge, Catherine fashioned herself a sandwich and took a bite. "You're not eating?" she asked between mouthfuls.

He sat on a barstool across the island counter from her. "I decided I wasn't hungry. Shouldn't you be getting to work?"

"I'm on my way. I just wanted to stop by and…"

"Check on me?"

Catherine shrugged. "If you want to call it that. I call it being a friend."

"What prompted this display of friendship?" Grissom asked.

Finishing off her sandwich, Catherine moved around to his side of the island and took the stool next to his. "I heard a rumor the other day."

"Office gossip," he muttered.

"Apparently Sara and Greg went out on a date over the weekend." She hesitated. "Didn't see that one coming. Did you?"

Grissom scratched his beard. "I could be the only person in that lab more concerned with work than with who's dating whom."

"So, you're happy for Sara?"

"Catherine. Quit prodding."

She feigned innocence with wide eyes. "I never prod. I simply have a curious nature."

"Curiosity killed the Cat."

"You are getting back your sense of humor, I see."

Grissom stood. "Even the aged and decrepit occasionally manage to make a joke."

"So, not a word of our last conversation got through, did it?"

"Catherine, what do you want from me?"

"Nothing. I have what I want from you, Gil." Facing him, she put a hand on his arm. "Your friendship. Your respect."

"Then why…"

"I'm worried about you. Twenty years from now, I don't want to still be dropping by your empty townhouse to find you eating alone."

Grissom covered her hand with his and moved it away. "I'm a creature of habit. And I like my space."

"I'm glad. 'Cause the way you're going, you'll have plenty of it. For the rest of your life."

He said nothing in return, a good indication that her words had hit some deeply buried nerve. Yet she felt no satisfaction. There was nothing rewarding about making her old friend face the reality of his life.

"So, I guess I should go." She pushed her sunglasses up onto the crown of her head. "If you think about anything that I've said, remember, I only want to see you happy."

Still, Grissom was silent. With a sigh, Catherine started for the door.

"Catherine," he called out, halting her exit. "It's too late for me."

"Bullshit," she replied as she pulled the door open. "Pure bullshit."

She didn't know what she was talking about, he told himself for a long time after she was gone. He had a full life. A successful career. The respect of the international criminology community. He'd gotten this far with this much. To want anything else, especially now, was just a waste of time.

Still, when he slid into his big, cold bed nearly twenty-four hours later, he couldn't help but think how nice it would be if he wasn't quite so alone.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the terrific feedback! I appreciate it so much. I hope you keep reading and enjoying.

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

I wish we never, I wish we never, I wish we never met

'Cause now I've got my heart set on you.

- Kathleen Wilhoite

* * *

Her cast came off on a Tuesday. On Wednesday, she walked into the lab with a renewed sense of purpose. She was almost thirty-five, single, attractive, intelligent, with a challenging, but rewarding job that she happened to love. Sure, she'd had her share of bad times; her childhood alone would have been enough to garner her anyone's sympathy and pathos. But Sara Sidle wasn't weak. She was a fighter. She'd worked her way up from the depths of foster care hell to attend the most prestigious university in the country. There wasn't anything she couldn't do if she put her entire mind towards it.

She could be happy. She really could.

Swing shift was still on duty; Sara stowed her purse and jacket in the locker room and set to work. Grissom had declined to switch her with Sophia, so they were still working together on the Jane Doe from the desert. Truth be told, she was still mad at him for it. Her request had been reasonable, not to mention logical, but he had blown it off like she was a petulant child trying to get out of her household chores. He was so goddamn stubborn.

Sara settled herself in front of a computer and logged on to the missing persons database. Someone out there had to be looking for Jane. A parent or a close friend…someone had to have reported her disappearance. It was just a matter of finding the right report.

An hour passed by as though it were no more than a minute. Sara wouldn't have even noticed if someone hadn't come up behind her, breaking her focus.

"You know what they say about staring at these screens too long."

She glared at the man peering over her shoulder. "That you find what you're looking for? Do you have work of your own, Nicky?"

"Don't be cruel to the guy who comes bearing coffee." He set a cup down next to the keyboard and pulled up a rolling chair next to hers. "Any luck?"

"I've flagged a half-dozen reports," she shrugged, taking a sip. A look of bliss momentarily overcame her stress. "How come you always know just how strong I need my coffee at any particular time?"

Nick smiled. "Sisters. I wouldn't say I understand women, but I think I've got a better handle on them than most guys. You look like you're having a five-scoop day, and yours hasn't even really started yet."

"Someday soon, some woman's gonna snap you up, Nick Stokes. I just hope she'll realize what a prize she's got."

"You need to break your arm more often. It makes you all…"

"If you say girly, I'll have to hurt you."

He laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders. "Welcome back, Sara."

That was how Grissom saw them as he passed through the hall on the way to his office. Sitting close, laughing, with Nick's arm circling her like it belonged there. He paused for a second, then moved on.

"Hey, Nick." Sara began her question tentatively. "Remember a few years ago? After I broke up with Hank, you mentioned that you had a friend?"

"I have a couple of them," he said. "And most of them are still single."

She let out a pent up breath. "Think any of them might be interested in going out with a workaholic who packs a gun?"

He turned his head to look at her. "Are you sure, Sara? I thought you and Greg…"

"Just friends. Like you and me." Her natural tendency towards insecurity had her continuing, "We are, right? Friends?"

"Can I call you girly now?" Nick asked. She arched one eyebrow. "Kidding. And of course we are. Ecklie can't undo that." He thought for a second. "You know...I think I have just the guy for you."

* * *

Grissom avoided her for most of the shift. He realized it wasn't fair to Sara, but it was less of a conscious decision and more of a necessity on his part. He'd seen how comfortable she was with Nick and he knew that she was dating Greg. She seemed to be on good terms with everyone but him. And while he acknowledged that it was his fault, he wasn't ready to put himself alone in a room with her. His self-control was only almost limitless.

"I found her!" An hour before the end of the longest shift of his life, Sara burst into his office. "Jane Doe is really Julia Sommers, freshman at UNLV. Her roommate made the report. Brass is on his way to her dorm."

Grissom took the paper she held out to him. Enthusiasm he hadn't seen in her for a long time shone through her eyes. "Great work, Sara. Let's go."

They arrived at Julia Sommers' dorm a half hour later, armed with the tools of their trade. As they entered, they saw Brass with the girl's roommate. She was sitting down with a cup of water as he asked her a barrage of questions.

"Tell me about the last time you saw Julia."

"Um…almost a month ago. She said she needed some time to think. You know, before the quarter got started. She was supposed to drive to her parents' place in Carson City." The roommate's hands shook around the paper cup. "When she wasn't back by that first weekend, I didn't think much of it. But then classes started...and she still wasn't back. That's when I got scared."

Sara gave the room a quick once-over. Take it in, she thought. Don't interpret.

It was a typical dorm room. Two of everything, down to the identical plastic shower baskets spilling over with shampoos and body scrubs. There was such hope in the room. A girl with one foot still in her youth, but with the other courageously stepping into adulthood had been brutally wiped out of existence long before her time. She would never get to outgrow the Orlando Bloom poster that hung over her bed. She would never have a place of her own or a life beyond grades and parental guidance. And she might, Sara grudgingly acknowledged, never have justice for her cruel murder.

But she was damn sure going to try to find it for her. Pulling on a pair of gloves, Sara started with Julia's dresser.

Twenty minutes later, she smelled Grissom's clean soap scent coming up from behind her. It overpowered her from out of nowhere, throwing off her concentration. What was it with men sneaking up on her? Did she have some sort of sign on her back that assured them she wouldn't startle easily?

"What have you got?" he asked.

"Everything's folded," she said, pawing through a stack of neat T-shirts. "She put potpourri sachets in her underwear drawer. Her lipsticks are arranged according to color, and none of them are red. This is not a girl living a high-risk lifestyle."

"Her desk says the same thing. She's got separate folders for her tax and insurance information." Grissom smiled wryly. "She's somewhat how I picture you at eighteen."

Sara turned away from him; his breath was warm against her neck as he leaned in to avoid being heard by the roommate. "Maybe I was a little...anal retentive. But even I had my secrets." Even as she spoke, her fingers landed on something hard between two stacked sweaters. Frowning, Sara slid out a flat notebook that was armed with a small, silver padlock. "Looks like we might have found one of Julia Sommers'."

Grissom took it from her. "Her diary." He spotted something on the spine of the book. "Is that blood?"

Sara performed the test. Wetting down the sterile cotton swab, running it over the spot in question and applying the phenolphthalein kept her busy enough to not even think about how close he was standing to her. Arm to arm, leg to leg…did he stand like this with Sophia?

The swab turned bright pink. "Yes," she answered his question. "But is it Julia's?"

"And what secrets did have locked up inside?" Grissom ruminated. "There's only one way to..."

Her cell phone rang just then, cutting him off with a rendition of "I'm Too Sexy." Sara blushed. "Greg," she explained when he gave her a strange look. "My cell phone is his new toy."

Whipping it out of the holder at her hip, she answered, "Sidle. Yeah, I'm kinda busy; I'm at a scene…really?" She paused. "Please tell me he's not an old frat buddy...Nick! You know that's not my type...yeah, well, you've transcended your beer bong days." Sara laughed at his unheard response; it was like music, her laugh. "Okay, okay, I'll trust you. But if he tries to enter me in a wet T-shirt contest...sure, tomorrow night's good for me. Eight o' clock at Il Fornaio...that's in New York/New York, isn't it? Got it...great. Tell him...tell him I'm looking forward to it. Bye, Nick."

Grissom cleared his throat as Sara put away her phone. "Find her hairbrush and grab a sample, just in case," he ordered her.

"Already done. I also got one from the roommate, to rule her out."

"Take what we've got to the lab and start running the tests."

Sara frowned. "Um, Grissom? We only took one car."

"I'll get a ride with Brass. You make sure our Jane is really a Julia before we go to any further."

He turned his back on her, effectively dismissing her. But Sara wasn't so easily dismissed.

"Any thoughts you feel like sharing with me?" she asked. "If Jane is Julia and this is Julia's blood, what are you thinking happened?"

"I don't formulate theories until I have far more evidence than what we currently possess." Grissom's voice snapped with unfamiliar emotion. "Even first day trainees know that about me."

Sara looked up at the ceiling and counted to ten. "I think you assume too much to think that anyone knows anything about you, Grissom. Least of all me."

Grissom said nothing. He only bagged the journal and handed it to her. Sara took it, but her eyes never shifted from his face. "Nick's setting me up on a date with one of his old college friends."

"Sara, this isn't the time or place to discuss your active love life. Save it for the water cooler."

She very nearly took a step back from him, but at the last second forced herself to stay strong. It took a lot more than words to hurt her; she had emotional calluses built up since she was old enough to talk.

"A few months ago, I would have hoped that meant you were jealous. Now…it doesn't matter what you think." She gathered up their meager pile of evidence. "See you back at the lab."

Brass approached him after Sara was gone, shaking his head sadly. "Gil...get a clue."

* * *

"Sara...get a grip."

Standing in the lobby of the New York/New York Hotel and Casino two days later, Sara forced herself to take a deep breath. She had made it this far; it wouldn't be much more of a stretch to actually go inside and meet Nick's friend.

A blind date. Had she really sunk that low? Blind dates never went well. True, she'd never actually been on one herself, but she'd heard enough horror stories from the girls in her dorm at Harvard. Blind dates meant awkward introductions and inevitable mindless chit-chat. Blind dates meant putting yourself on a cold exam table and having your looks scrutinized and your personality summed up, to be either accepted or dismissed within a matter of minutes. Really, the blind date had lingering commonalties with Victorian debutante balls and the Roman sex-slave trade.

So why hadn't she turned and fled yet? Sara wasn't entirely sure. Maybe because there was a sliver of hope left in the blind date. Or maybe it was the little voice in the back of her head that kept telling her the evening might not be so terrible. Nick was a good guy; he wouldn't set her up with a Neanderthal. And she'd gotten dressed up and dragged herself all the way to the Strip on her one day off. She might as well at least meet the guy.

Straightening her shoulders, Sara walked into the restaurant.

* * *

"Tell me about the blood on the spine of Julia Sommers' journal."

Mia cleared her throat and pulled out a sheet of paper from the stack on her lab table. Usually she enjoyed working with the graveyard shift's supervisor. Grissom was a living legend in the field; she'd even studied some of his cases in the elective forensics classes she'd taken in college. It was a privilege to work with him.

Most of the time.

That night, it was holy hell. There wasn't a tech in the entire lab who hadn't been snapped at for something that usually wouldn't even earn them a mild reprimand. The word around the microscopes was that Grissom was on the warpath. Just as widespread was the rumor that it had something to do with a certain colleague. Apparently Sara Sidle's absence had pushed him overboard. That was, if gossip was to be believed. Mia wasn't one to stick her nose into other people's business. Especially if those people controlled her career.

"The blood doesn't match the DNA we recovered from her hairbrush," Mia informed the older man. "It's not Julia's." She took a breath.

"But?" he prompted.

"It does match the hair Sara took from the roommate's brush."

The mere mention of her name turned Grissom's glower into a full-out glare. Fortunately he directed the look at the DNA results and not at Mia. "The roommate's blood is on Julia's diary…which was found in her drawer, undisturbed."

"Well, they did live together. There could be an innocent explanation." Mia volunteered. Wincing, she waited for some kind of sharp retort.

"Maybe," Grissom mused. "I'll have Brass re-interview her. We still don't know anything more about her killer, though."

Braver, Mia let herself go on hypothesizing. "Maybe there's something in the diary itself?"

He turned his dark frown onto her. "Yes, that thought did occur to me, only quite awhile ago."

Mia's shoulders didn't relax until he had stalked away. Bracing herself on the table, she blew out a breath, reminding herself that the next time Greg Sanders told her to avoid someone at all costs, she really ought to listen to him.

* * *

Halfway through her mushroom risotto, Sara realized she was having a really good time.

His name was Kevin Butler. He was single, and had never been married. He had a Masters in business from Texas AM. He'd only recently relocated to Las Vegas, having been promoted by the insurance company for which he worked. He looked like a young George Clooney and spoke like Matthew McConaughey. He ordered expensive wine without blinking an eye. He had all the charm of a Southern gentleman. And he seemed genuinely interested in her.

There had to be a catch somewhere.

"Tell me more about your job," Kevin said, forking up a bite of his ziti. "Nick's only ever said it's tough."

Sara set down her glass. The catch. People who wanted to know details were either morbidly fascinated by death or weren't aware of just how horrific her job could be. She wasn't sure which was harder to deal with, but they were both bothersome.

"How did a woman as beautiful as you get into such a gruesome profession?" he continued.

Her knee-jerk wariness melted under the warmth of the compliment. She smiled, but the expression quickly faded. "I had...have...had a very inspiring mentor."

"Have? Had?" Kevin chuckled. "Sounds like you're not sure."

"I'm not," she agreed. "It's complicated. Suffice it to say, he helped me find this career."

"So you didn't get into it for yourself?"

Sara frowned. "No, I did. I just meant that he showed me a path I might not have considered on my own. But he didn't push me down it. I chose to become a criminalist."

"I wish I could say the same for myself, but my family's always been in the insurance business." Kevin drained his wine glass and refilled it, pausing to top off Sara's, as well. "If you could go back and take away that one element...your mentor...do you think you'd be where you are today?"

Momentarily floored by the question, Sara attempted a chuckle of her own. "Is it normal for blind dates to get this philosophical?"

"Probably not." He leaned in closer and suddenly the two-person table was far too small. "But you're not the kind of woman who would care about my stock portfolio. So I've gotta say something to impress you."

Sara thought for a moment. "Actually…I don't know where I'd be without him." A cold shiver ran down her spine. "And that's incredibly frightening."

Kevin nodded. "I know. Take away my father's influence and I have no idea where I'd be either." He took her hand with a boldness she wasn't used to; she very nearly pulled away, but his palm closed around her fingers before she could. "We have a lot in common, Sara Sidle. We like our lives, but we never stop wondering what might've been. What could've been. Whether we want to wonder or not."

"Yeah," Sara whispered.

"You know what we should do to stop wondering?"

She swallowed. "What's that?"

Grinning, Kevin lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

* * *

In retrospect, Sara realized she should have snapped herself out of the strange trance that had come over her the minute she learned he'd had the audacity to rent a room in the hotel at the same time he'd made their dinner reservations. If not then, she should have come to her senses when he'd asked her if she wanted to come upstairs with him. And if not then, at least when he ordered up a bottle of champagne. Then a second. But by the time he poured the last of that bottle into her glass, she was too far gone to stop the rollercoaster.

She let him undress her, let him urge her into the luxurious bed, let him touch her in places long neglected. It might have been the alcohol, her fickle, fickle friend, but it was good. Great. He knew what he was doing, and for the first time since she'd cut Hank out of her life, Sara allowed herself to let go of everything...her past, her job, her responsibilities, her feelings for a man who could never let himself do the same. The rollercoaster plunged over the hill, taking her with it.

Waking up alone the next morning brought the ride to a crashing halt. At least he'd left a note thanking her for the night and instructing her to order whatever she wanted for breakfast. On him, no less. Did prostitutes get fed, too? A more vindictive woman might have ordered every single thing on the room service menu, eaten two bites and left.

Sara merely took a shower to wash him away, put the dress he'd slipped off with such finesse back on, and left the hotel, walking out into the scorching Vegas dawn.

Blind dates were a bad idea, she decided, but one-night stands were even worse.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me, dontcha know?

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who's still reading my little story. I appreciate all the sweet feedback.

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Grissom handled the pliers with all the sensitive skill of a surgeon preparing for the first cut. He adjusted his grip, anchored his target, readjusted his grip, took a moment to prepare…

"Are you going to cut the lock or what?"

He glanced at his partner. Sara sat at his side, arms tightly crossed over her lab coat as she waited for him. "No moment of reverence for the deceased girl and the secrets she tried to lock away from the world?" She shrugged. "All right, then." With one clean snip, Grissom did away with the tiny padlock.

Sara immediately reached for the diary. "Finally." She began flipping through the pink pages. "Okay…she dotted her 'i's' with hearts. Under normal circumstances, that might make me puke."

"The last few entries will likely tell us the most," Grissom noted.

Nodding impatiently, Sara stopped at a particular spot and spread the diary out in front of them. "This entry's dated two weeks before she disappeared." Clearing her throat, she read, "'The unthinkable has happened and I can't tell anyone. I always thought it could never be my problem. I wish I knew what to do'."

"She doesn't mention what's happened?"

Sara turned a few pages back. "No. The entry before that…she's just talking about a party." She paused. "Maybe whatever it is happened at the party."

"Let's keep reading before we come up with any theories."

"Two days later…'I went to the place Amber told me about and I feel a lot better. She's a good friend. I know she won't tell anyone. I'd die if my parents found out. I just want to put it all behind me now'," Sara continued reading.

Grissom removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought girls kept detailed diaries. This isn't giving us much of anything."

"Not all girls keep diaries," she snapped. "I never did. I mean, what was I going to write in one? 'Dear Diary, today a girl in school tried to start a fight with me because I got an A on the math test'."

He half-smiled. "I nearly got beaten up over a show-and-tell ant farm. Kids are ruthless."

"And yet people keep breeding." Sara shook her head. "We need to find this Amber. She knows what happened to Julia."

"I'll get Brass on it." Seconds slipped by in awkward silence. "How are you, Sara?"

She raised her arm and waved it around. "No more cast."

"I did notice that," he replied, dryly.

"Well, no offense but it's hard to tell what you might or might not have noticed, Grissom."

"I know I can be somewhat…obtuse."

Sara snorted delicately. "Somewhat."

"Have I done something to make you angry? Recently?" Grissom sought out her eyes, but she purposely looked away. "You seem very on edge."

"That's me, on the edge." She stood. "I haven't been sleeping well the past couple of nights, that's all. Nothing more."

He didn't believe her for a minute, but he let it go and changed the subject. "Well, with the roommate's blood on the diary explained away…"

Sara cut in. "We're really buying that she cut her finger trying to break into it?"

"There's no evidence to prove otherwise." He took a breath and continued, "With that question out of the way, we need to focus on what's probative."

"The pubic hair, the diary, the new witness." She stood up. "Got it."

Grissom didn't want to watch her walk away, but his eyes were drawn to her like she was a flame and he was a moth. Right then, he would have given anything he owned to be able to see into her thoughts. Or at least for the ability to be able to ask her the right questions to get her to talk. The past week had been hell between them, and while he blamed a lot of it on himself and his comments to her in Julia's dorm room, there was something else. Something that was entirely Sara. She'd been carrying around an extra weight lately, like there was something on her mind that she couldn't reconcile.

If she didn't let go of it soon, Grissom wasn't sure what would happen to her, but it probably wouldn't be good.

He sighed and looked back down at Julia's diary. The hearts dotting her "i's" were rather annoying.

* * *

In the women's bathroom, Sara splashed her face with cold water. The shock was like a slap, but she took it without wincing. With water dripping off her chin, she stared at herself in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes. Admittedly, that was nothing new, but they'd never seemed so prominent before. Her cheeks were pale; she hadn't bothered with makeup that day. Or the day before. Or the day before that. What was the point in dolling herself up? There was no one to impress. The last time she'd carefully prepared her appearance, she'd woken up the next morning in a hotel bed feeling like a two-dollar whore.

Sara patted her face dry with a paper towel. How had she managed to mess up so badly? Hadn't her near DUI taught her anything about drinking? When she drank, she tended to lose some of her control. She made bad choices. She got behind the wheel. She let herself fall into bed with a stranger.

She hurtled the crumpled up paper into the wastebasket with all of her might.

"Nice curve," Catherine said as she entered the bathroom. "Ever play softball?"

Sara closed her eyes briefly. She was not in the mood for Catherine. "I'm not joining the lab's team. I don't care how badly the PD team needs to be taken down."

"Please. Do I look like a woman who spends her Saturdays running bases?" Catherine set her purse down on the sink next to Sara's and rummaged through it until she found a tube of lip gloss. "Either you're here really late, or I'm here really early."

"Grissom and I were working. We must have lost track of the time." Through the mirror, Sara watched Catherine carefully apply a coat of gloss to her lips. "I'll get out of your way."

"You're not in my way," Catherine said. She capped the gloss and turned her full attention onto the younger woman. "So. What's been bugging you for the past week or so?"

"Bugging me?" Sara folded her arms defensively. "Nothing's been bugging me."

"Uh, yeah."

Her all-knowing tone irked Sara to no end. "Even if there was something bugging me, how would you know? I haven't seen you in weeks."

"I hear things, Sara."

She rolled her eyes. "God, sometimes this place is just like being back in junior high."

"Actually Nick did tell me something awhile back about setting you up with one of his friends." Catherine pushed her perfect bangs out of her eyes. "How did that go?"

Sara looked down at her shoes; the black boots clashed with the mint green tiles. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"That bad, huh? Weird. I would have thought all of Nick's friends were like him. Gentlemen and all that."

"There's no such thing," Sara muttered. Her arms tightened around her slender frame protectively.

It was a subtle move that Catherine immediately picked up on. "You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"No offense, but it's really not any of your business."

Catherine smiled slyly. "None taken. But isn't it true that the most interesting business is usually none of your own?" Sara had no reply. "Look, I'm not going to pretend that you and I have some sort of female bond that compels us to gather in the ladies room and dish about men and shoes and tampon brands, but if something's really bothering you, it's probably best to get it off your chest. And really, who else are you going to talk to? Sofia?"

"Hell no."

"I didn't think so," the older woman laughed at Sara's vehemence.

Sara glanced up. "Why do you care? You don't even really like me."

"I don't have many girlfriends, Sara. Okay, any really. Even when I danced, I was mostly in competition with women for whales and tips. My only real girlfriend died a long time ago and I never found a replacement for a lot of reasons. It's a lot easier for me to be friends with a man than with a woman."

"I can see that."

"So would you give me a break and let me have a girl moment here? It might do us both some good." Sara replied by shrugging her shoulders. "And just so you know," Catherine continued. "I haven't actively disliked you in a long time."

"Well. That's something, I guess."

The decision to tell Catherine about her date and what had happened on it came quickly and before she knew it, the story came flooding out like some internal dam had broken.

"It wasn't rape," she finished up. "I never said no."

"You were drunk," Catherine laid it out in the simplest terms. "You weren't in the right frame of mind to say yes or no."

Sara shook her head. "It was my choice to drink. He didn't force the champagne down my throat."

"He might as well have."

"I wish it was that simple. I almost wish I could point my finger at him and cry 'rape'." She bit her lip. "But I can't. I enjoyed it. Well…most of it."

Catherine sighed. "C'mon, Sara. You know better than that. Let's put it this way. What would you say to a sixteen year old girl who told you this same story?"

"I'd tell her…she was raped," Sara admitted in a soft voice. "But she would be a minor. I am definitely not."

"Sara…"

"I won't report it, Catherine." She stood up, her body visibly trembling. "Don't ask me to. It was a mistake, not rape. I should have been...more controlled. I can't justify an accusation of rape to myself, much less to anyone else."

"Look at yourself, Sara. You're a wreck."

"Thanks, girlfriend."

Catherine sighed again at the sarcasm. "Well, you look like one, at least. I could pack my entire wardrobe into those bags under your eyes. And thin might be in, but you're getting downright skinny."

"Say the woman who could cut glass with her hipbones."

"Okay, no more talk! Just listen." Catherine approached the taller CSI. "You're an intelligent, independent woman. And it must be killing you knowing that someone took advantage of you." A sudden shimmer in Sara's eyes gave away the truth. "If you bottle all of this up much longer, you're going to explode. And with Ecklie in charge, any meltdown could mean the end of your career."

"I don't…" Sara closed her eyes and twin tears spilled down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do."

Catherine's first instinct was to comfort her with a motherly hug, but she was pretty sure that Sara was not the hugging type. So she merely patted her arm. "We'll figure it out."

Neither woman had noticed Sofia entering on silent feet, and neither of them noticed when she left the same way.

* * *

When Greg first heard the rumor that Sara was on the verge of a metal breakdown, he laughed. It was absurd. Sara had issues, sure, but who didn't? So what if she flipped out on a wife abuser or serial child molester every now and then? He dared anyone to see everything Sara had over the course of her career and be able to maintain perfect detachment. Even Grissom had pressure points. Put him in a room with a dealer who sold to kids and he was a different man.

The next time he heard the rumor, he was in the break room, searching for his misplaced ham and cheese sandwich. Intuitively, he knew that Hodges had probably eaten it, but when he picked up on a hushed conversation between two lab techs, he kept up the search in order to keep listening.

"God, the breakdown thing? Yesterday's news. Now the reason behind it…that's new."

"Reason? You mean it's not just the job?"

"Not even. I heard…" The girl paused dramatically. "…that she was raped."

Greg nearly knocked over a neat row of Catherine's yogurts.

"Oh my god! No way! Not Sara Sidle, Miss I-Wear-A-Gun-Like-Other-Women-Wear-Earrings!"

"One and the same. Apparently it was a date thing, that's all I know."

"But…I thought she was dating…"

There was silence for a second, and Greg suddenly felt quite visible.

"Um, you know…we should get back to the lab."

He heard the techs scramble to gather up their stuff and as they left, there was the unmistakable sound of giggling.

Greg stood up and slammed the fridge door shut. Bracing his hands on the cool metal, he swore out loud. Rumors were one thing, but out right lies were another. Especially when they involved a friend.

His legs ate up the hallway with angry strides until he reached Grissom's office. The door was open and he entered without knocking.

"I think you need to do something about all the gossip around here," Greg announced. Grissom looked up from his paperwork with a confused frown. "We're the number two crime lab in the entire country, right?" he went on, undaunted. "We should all be professionals. And professionals don't gossip like teenagers, do they?"

Grissom removed his glasses. "Professionals also don't wear T-shirts that say 'Buck Fush' to work."

Greg's cheeks turned pink. "Hey, you laughed at the time." Grissom arched an eyebrow. "Okay, you smiled." He paused. "You didn't make me change. My point is that this place is starting to remind me way too much of the seventh level of hell I used to call adolescence."

"Should I send out a memo telling people to curb the conversations, or would it be all right if I just bought the lab a Coke and taught them to sing in harmony?"

"What does that even mean?"

The older man shook his head ruefully. "Before your time, I see." He stood up. "I'll bring the excess of gossip up at the next supervisor's meeting."

Greg gave him a look. "Everyone knows you don't go to those things."

"Greg, I haven't been home in almost twenty-four hours and I'm running solely on coffee and a ham sandwich someone left in the break room. What is it that you want?"

"I just don't like it when people say insane things about my friends and other people believe them. And pass them on." Greg dug his hands into his pockets. "I mean, we all work really hard around here and we deserve each other's respect. Sara alone has more solves than…"

"What does Sara have to do with this?"

Grissom's sudden interest came as no surprise to Greg. "You haven't heard then?"

"If I have to ask, obviously not."

His boss had infinite amounts of patience, but right then, it sounded like his patience was coming to an end. "Um…it's nothing. Like I said. Just some insane things."

"Greg." Grissom fixed a hard look onto his newest CSI. "Tell me exactly what you've heard. Right now."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thanks so much for all the great feedback! I'm so glad ya'll are enjoying it. Have you been checking out the CSI marathon on Spike all this week? I managed to record an entire season that I didn't have;) Take care 'til next time!

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

With Grissom staring him down as he waited for answer, Greg considered his options.

First option: the truth. He could tell his boss that there was a rumor flying around the lab that Sara had been a victim of date rape. If he did that, he'd at least be telling the truth. But he would also be partly responsible for Grissom's stroke and/or heart attack. He had a feeling that the man wouldn't take the news very well.

Second option: lie. Lie like crazy.

"Did I say Sara?" Greg stammered. "I meant…um…Tara."

"Tara?"

"Yeah, Tara. Rookie on days." He flashed a wide, guilty grin. "You haven't met her yet?"

The older man frowned, obviously suspicious. "No, I haven't. What's her last name?"

To Greg's great relief, he was saved by the bell. Well, by the cell, at least.

Grissom answered. "Grissom."

A moment passed as his boss listened to the voice on the other end. Greg took the opportunity to thank whatever higher power had just saved his butt.

"That was Brass," Grissom said, closing up his phone. "Skeletal remains in the desert. Grab your kit." As Greg turned to go, he continued. "But Greg…don't think we won't be continuing this conversation later."

By Greg's calculations, he had at least six hours to come up with a last name for the phantom Tara.

* * *

The scrap of paper in her hand felt like lead. Sara looked down at it, then up at the building, confirming for the tenth time that she was at the right place. It was discreet, like the ad in the phone book had promised it would be. Just a simple sign reading "Professional Counseling Services." She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Maybe a huge, garish billboard screaming "Rape Crisis CenterBeen raped? Or maybe just taken advantage of? Come on in! We'll fix you, good as new!"

When Catherine had made the suggestion that she seek professional counseling, Sara had turned her down flat. She'd had enough of therapy after her near-DUI. And while she'd been grateful for the insights her PEAP counselor had given her, she wasn't quite ready to have her head shrunken again. There were some things that were better left alone.

But as the older woman had pointed out, she was on the verge of a breakdown. And Sara figured she'd been enough of a burden on Grissom. The last thing he needed was her going mental at a crime scene or in an interrogation room.

It was her desire to regain control over her own life that urged her into the air-conditioned office. Sara pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and looked around. She might have been in her dentist's office, or even her CPA's. Nothing in the waiting room's décor gave away what the two women besides herself who were seated in comfortable chairs reading magazines might actually be there for. Sara took a breath and approached the receptionist's desk.

She couldn't seem to make the words come out, but fortunately the woman behind the desk spoke for her. "If you're here for the group session, we're running just a bit behind schedule."

"Um…yes." Sara cleared her throat. "Who leads the group session?"

"Dr. Forbes. He's a highly respected clinical psychologist. And on a personal note, a genuinely wonderful man."

"He? A man runs the session?"

As if on cue, a tall, lanky boy of no more than twenty entered the office. He quickly took a seat and grabbed a magazine, holding it up to hide his face.

The receptionist smiled sadly. "Not all rape victims are women." She reached into her desk. "You're not required to fill out any information on yourself, but here's a nametag if you want to wear one." She handed Sara a blank tag and a marker. "We hope you'll stay. Being a survivor myself, I know that talking helps. Even if it seems like the last thing you want to do."

Sara nodded. "It is." She hesitated before writing her first name on the tag. With shaky hands, she peeled off the back and attached the tag just over her right breast. It was a minor step, but it was something. "But I'll give it a try."

* * *

"I'm sorry I haven't gotten to this yet," Doc Robbins apologized a week later. "We've been backed up."

"Not a problem," Grissom assured him. "What have you found out?"

"It's a mystery, Gil." Doc Robbins shook his head at the skeleton pieced together on the steel exam table. "No obvious signs of trauma other than some animal activity. I'll see what I can pull from the bones, but don't count on DNA or any lingering toxins." He sighed. "We'll probably never know the COD."

Grissom pointed to the wide arch in the pelvic bone. "It's definitely female though."

"For certain. I'm tentatively putting her in her early twenties. See her teeth?" He pointed to the skeleton's jaw. "Her wisdoms were just starting to push up. But she's past eighteen." The doctor picked up the right forearm and pointed out the calcification around the joint. "Female, early twenties, Caucasian, five foot eight. That's the best I can give you."

"It's something," Grissom mused. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

Walking back to his office, Grissom's thoughts were a jumbled puzzle. He was barely aware of the people who passed him by, he was so caught up in the newest Jane Doe. For a moment he considered putting in a call to Terri Miller, but then he remembered something he'd heard awhile back about her having a baby. It was doubtful she'd be able to fly to Vegas to recreate a face for him.

He was going over a list of forensic artists in his head when he heard Sara's voice. She broke through the fog like no one else could. His head snapped up.

"Is it true?" Sara approached him from across the hall. "The skeleton you pulled out of the desert last week might be connected to Julia Sommers?"

"That hasn't been confirmed," Grissom replied. "And from the utter lack of evidence, it's doubtful it ever will be."

She persisted. "But you think it might be, right? Greg said that you…"

"Greg put the pieces together, not me. For now we're treating it like a separate murder."

"The sooner we identify a serial and start putting together a profile, the sooner we catch him and the more lives we save."

Grissom watched her lips move as she spoke, an old habit he'd never quite been able to get over. She had a beautiful mouth that wrapped around every word like a loving blanket. He shook off the thought as quickly as possible. "Sara, we're not going to jump ahead of the evidence. That's not how we do things around here."

"Right." She folded her arms defensively. "My mistake."

His head suddenly ached. "You're making it personal again. You want to catch Julia Sommers' killer for your own peace of mind. That's dangerous, Sara. Because if it never happens, you'll never be able to rest."

"You're hardly one to talk," Sara shot back, her voice raw with pain. "Why isn't Debbie Marlin on the fish board?" He blinked. "Her case is still very much open, isn't it?"

Now his head was pounding. "That's different. I know who killed her. I just need to prove it."

"You're never going to prove it," she said softly. "He got away with murder, Grissom."

"Sara." His stare locked onto hers. "Go find Greg. I'm sure he needs help with something."

The migraine threatened to take over his entire head by the time he got to his office. Without bothering with water, he popped two pills and sat back in his chair, waiting for them to take effect.

* * *

"Unless anyone has anything else to add, I think we'll wrap things up for the day." Dr. Lawton Forbes waited a few moments for any one of the ten people seated in the circle over which he presided to speak. His gaze settled on the tall brunette, the newest member of the group. But when she said nothing, he continued. "All right then." He stood and indicated that they should follow.

Sara was familiar with this part of the session, but even after attending four of them, she wasn't quite ready to be an active participant in the ritual. She stood, but only listened to the words that flowed in unison.

"I am a survivor. I have power that no one can take from me. I am a survivor."

"Great." Dr. Forbes nodded, satisfied. "See you all next week."

Gathering up her coat and purse, Sara thought back on the day's session. A girl named Andrea had talked about her horrific date rape experience. It had been difficult, but she'd tried not to listen to the girl's story with the ears of a law enforcement agent. Still, she'd wanted to tell Andrea that it wasn't too late to report the crime.

Hypocrite, Sara accused herself.

"Sara." She spun around and came face to face with Dr. Forbes. He smiled at her, the faint lines around his brown eyes crinkling up. She guessed him to be about forty; if he was older than that, he kept himself in great shape. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay."

He waited until she had put on her coat before continuing. "How are you doing, Sara? Are you finding the sessions helpful?"

"Um…yes." Sara caught him arch an eyebrow; she reconsidered her answer. "No. Not really."

The doctor gestured to a seat and took one for himself. "Any idea why not?"

She sank back into her chair. "I don't know. I guess I still don't think I was…" She bit into her lip. "What happened to me wasn't so easily classified as these other people."

"Is that why you've yet to talk at all?"

"Yeah. I guess I don't want to undermine their experiences." Sara shrugged. "I wasn't raped so much as…used."

"I see." Dr. Forbes leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm going to make a bold guess and say that for you, sex is a very special act. Something you don't do casually."

She didn't have to nod; her face gave away the truth.

"So while what happened to you wasn't violent, emotionally you were raped," he went on.

"I haven't heard from him since," she whispered. "It was like it never happened." She turned her face up to the ceiling. "He took what he wanted and left. And that was it"

"Don't undermine your own experience, Sara. Take the first step and let yourself be a victim. It's only after you do that you can become a survivor."

There was a lump in her throat that she couldn't quite swallow. "I don't know if I can do that. My job…I work with victims every day. If I become one, how can I possibly help anyone else? If I couldn't protect myself…"

"Those aren't questions I can answer. Only you can. And you probably won't be to for a long time." He reached out and touched her hand in a gesture that was too familiar. It was entirely Grissom. She pulled away.

"I should go." Sara stood up. "Thank you, Dr. Forbes."

"Please." He smiled again. "Call me Lawton. I look forward to seeing you next week, Sara."

Her stomach twisted. "Next week."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	8. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who's reading; I appreciate it so much.

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

I close my door at night,

But she gets in all right.

I held her hand too tight,

Too hard to make it right.

* * *

Sara hadn't purposely been avoiding Nick since the fateful date on which he had set her up, but it just became the easy thing to do. Their shifts rarely overlapped; the drinks and breakfasts they used to enjoy after work were all but abandoned. It was certainly easier to evade Nick than it was to do the same with Grissom.

But once Nick realized he was being avoided, it was impossible to shake him off. Sara found this out one day as she caught up on her paperwork in the relative privacy of the autopsy room. Unless it was being used, the sterile and serenely quiet place had become her sanctuary. She could escape the company of her co-workers and the weird stares she'd been getting lately and focus on her work. It was one of the only things she had left in her life, after all.

That afternoon, she wasn't alone in the room. A body lay in repose underneath a white sheet, her only company for the early part of the evening. Truthfully, it didn't creep her out as much as it probably should have. It was just a body. At least she could be sure that it wouldn't want to interrupt her in order to tell a joke or share an unsolicited piece of office gossip.

She had just settled into her routine when the swinging doors swung open. Her head shot up, and she nearly fell off the metal exam table upon which she sat, cross-legged.

"Sara Sidle." Nick entered, his arms folded, a faint frown on his conventionally handsome face. "Have you given up on the living entirely, now?" He gestured to the body.

"The living have given up on me," she replied.

"What?"

"Never mind." Sara uncrossed her legs and stretched them out in front of her to shake out the pins and needles. "I have permission to be in here from Doc Robbins, just so you know."

Nick raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure you're just not more comfortable hanging out with the dead?" After a pause, he continued. "You never told me how your date with Kevin went."

She swallowed a lump in her throat and avoided his eyes. "He didn't say anything to you?"

"Kevin's not the type to kiss and tell." He smiled broadly. "But I'm the type to be curious. So…how did it go?"

Part of her wanted to tell him the truth, even if he sided with his college buddy, which instinct told her he probably wouldn't. But who was she to ruin Nick's friendship just because she'd come down with a bad case of morning-after regrets? She took the easy way out and lied.

"We had a nice dinner. There just wasn't any…"

"Spark?" he guessed.

"Substance," Sara said.

"Gotcha. Well, can't blame me for trying." He glanced around at the mostly empty room. "I don't want to picture you living like this for the rest of your life. You're my friend, Sara."

His words were honest and they touched something deep within her. Sara could count on one hand the number of times she'd cried at work, and most of them had been within the past couple of weeks. She felt the hot sting of fresh tears and tried her hardest to head them off. But it was to no avail.

"Sara?" Nick crossed over to the table. "Hey…are you crying?" She shook her head, but it only made the tears fall faster. "I was just kidding. I know you're not going to end up alone. You're too great for some guy not to fall for you."

She let him pull her off the table and surprised even herself when she let him hug her. His arms were warm like a big brother's should be; she could almost imagine how safe his real sisters must feel with Nick around.

Sara opened her eyes and abruptly pulled back. "I'm sorry, Nick."

"I'm the one apologizing here. I barged in, distracted you, then made fun of you."

"Yeah." A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You did!"

Nick laughed in his good old boy way. "I'll let you get back to work. I just wanted to catch up. I miss working with you, Sara."

"I miss it, too, Nick." She managed a smile of her own. "Thanks."

He was about to leave when he turned back around. "I think Grissom's looking for you, by the way."

Sara sighed. "Of course he wouldn't actually come looking for me himself," she muttered under her breath.

"He's been all over the lab," Nick continued. "I just don't think it would occur to him to look here."

"That's sort of the point of being here."

"I say, stay put. Make him work for it." He pushed open the door. "It's about time he should."

After he left, Sara bent over the table, supporting herself on her elbows. She let her cheek sink down to the metal before she remembered just how many bodies had lain there, and in how many various stages of decomposition. Sterile or not, the very thought made her stand right back up.

She glanced at her watch. If she hurried, she could make Lawton's seven p.m. group session. From one sanctuary to another.

* * *

Grissom gave up looking for Sara after his fourth trip around the maze of corridors that made up his lab. If she wanted to hide, he'd let her. Although she'd regret not having been available once she found out what Brass had been able to learn about Julia Sommers from Amber, the girl mentioned her diary.

As he headed back to his office after his fourth lap, he ran into Sofia as she came out of it.

"I was just leaving you a note," she explained in her usual, aspiring seductress voice. "Brass said you were heading out into the field."

The fact that she felt so comfortable going in and out of his safe haven at work bothered him more than just a little. But he knew she'd had a hard time adjusting from supervisor to underling. He could try and give her a bit of leniency.

"We have a lead on our former Jane Doe from the desert," Grissom told her. He moved past her to retrieve his field kit. "I can't seem to find Sara, though."

"The Jane Doe you connected to my old case?" He nodded and Sofia continued, "I could come with you."

He stopped for a second. "It's my case with Sara."

"But she's not here. And I'm familiar with it." Sofia leaned across his desk. Close. Too close. "Where are we going?"

* * *

"Lawton, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Sara had purposely lingered over putting on her coat as the doctor briefly spoke to another group member. But now that the woman was leaving, she took her chance to approach him.

"Sara," he greeted her warmly as she caught up with him in the abandoned reception area. "I was so proud to hear you respond to Andrea tonight. She needs all of our support if she's going to get through this."

A blush colored her cheeks. "I just wanted her to know her options. And…I couldn't stay quiet anymore."

"Maybe you'll feel up to telling your story to the group soon." She nodded noncommittally. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked.

She blew out a soft breath. "I need to know something. About how many of your…the people in these groups…how many of them go on to have normal lives…and relationships?" Sara hesitated. "You don't need to name names. I just…need to know."

Lawton took a moment before answering. "Sara, if you're asking me what your chances are, I can only tell you that you're a vibrant woman who's on the path to surviving a painful ordeal. You're no less normal than someone who's getting over a break-up. Or recovering from a traumatic injury. There's no reason for you not to believe in your future whole-heartedly."

"I wish it was that simple," she whispered. "But I never had normal relationships to start out with. Fleeting crushes in high school, some minor, non-threatening dates in college, and one disastrous attempt at a real connection with a guy I thought I could trust. And then there's…" She stopped.

"There's…what? Or who?"

Sara shook her head. "He's…I can't talk about him yet."

Lawton nodded patiently. "In time, then. For now, Sara, just understand this. You are taking the right steps. You just have to let them take you where you're going, instead of trying to see the path ahead of you before you even start down it. Do you understand?"

"I do. It's just frustrating."

"That's why you have all of us." He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a card. "This has my home phone number on it. If you ever need anything, Sara, please don't hesitate to call, day or night."

She took it with trembling fingers. "Are you sure? My first physics professor made this mistake, and ended up getting an unlisted number. I tend to…over-talk."

"There's no such thing," he assured her. For the first time, she took note of how his voice was just deep enough to soothe, but not startle. He had a nice voice. A trusting voice. It reminded her of another voice she knew way too well. A voice she used to seek out for comfort. Sara's chin dropped to her chest. Lawton reached out, his fingers barely brushing over her skin as he lifted her face back up.

A cold rush of air swept into the office as the door opened, revealing the very last person on earth she expected to see at that moment.

* * *

Sara was the last person on earth Grissom expected to see when he arrived at the Professional Counseling Services office with Brass and Sofia. But there she was, standing unnervingly close to a tall man with dark brown hair. A hundred questions flew through his mind, but only two were anywhere near coherent. What was she doing here? His eyes narrowed. And who was she letting manhandle her?

"Sara," Brass was the first to break the silence. "I thought Grissom couldn't find you at the lab."

"I…" She licked her lips and took a step back from her companion. "I was…I mean…what are you all doing here?"

"Are these your friends, Sara?" Grissom bristled at the man's question. If anyone had to explain their connection to Sara, it was him.

"Co-workers," Sara answered. "Just co-workers."

Sofia glanced at Grissom; he could feel her eyes all over him. But he couldn't tear his own eyes away from Sara. "I'm CSI Curtis. That's CSI Grissom and Detective Brass, from the LVPD. We're here as part of the investigation into the death of Julia Sommers," he heard Sofia introduce them.

The man with Sara frowned. "Julia is dead?"

If he didn't already know that he and Sara were connected on some deep, disturbing level, Grissom would have been surprised when she blinked and focused on the man at the same time he did. "You knew Julia?" Sara asked him.

"She was a survivor," he told her in low, confidential tone that made the hairs on the back of Grissom's neck stand up.

"Who are you?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Brass sighed. "I see those people skills are really coming along, Gil."

The man held out his hand. "Dr. Lawton Forbes. I'm the primary counselor of this facility. Julia Sommers was one of my counselees. I'm terribly sorry about her death; she was a lovely girl."

Grissom regarded the doctor's hand with the same disdain most people gave to his bug collections. "One of Julia's friends informed us that after she was raped, she came here for counseling." His gaze flickered back to Sara. "Is that the only kind of counseling you do here?"

"Yes," the man admitted. "We decline to use the term 'rape crisis center' to describe ourselves, but at our core, that's what we are. Julia was only here for a couple of sessions before she stopped coming."

"You never tried to find out why she stopped?" Sofia asked.

"Our services are here when they're needed. We try not to force them on anyone. When people stop coming, they usually have a reason that's none of our business."

"Yeah, well, Julia stopped because someone raped her…again…and dumped her for dead in the desert," Brass injected, dryly. "It would have been nice if one of you had called to check up on her."

The doctor nodded. "In retrospect, I wish we had been able to. But our services are, above all else, anonymous."

Throughout this exchange, Grissom's focus never swayed from Sara. Underneath the weight of his stare, she'd shrunk back a bit, her arms now crossed tightly over her chest as if to protect herself. From him? Just what had happened to her? And why had it lead her here? There was really only one answer, but it filled him with such an unfamiliar sense of rage that he was loath to dwell on it for too long.

Still, he wanted answers. He needed answers.

"Sara…" he started, stepping towards her.

She threw up her hands like a force field. "I can't…be here right now."

He caught a whiff of her clean linen scent as she ran past him and out the door. Ignoring the looks the other three were giving him, which ranged from curious to annoyed, Grissom followed her out into the cold night.

* * *

Sara stopped running when she reached the end of the parking lot and the start of the paved road. Cars zoomed in front of her from both directions, throwing up gusts of wind and sand. She hugged her arms around her body and threw back her head. Above, the night sky was a canopy of twinkling stars, somehow visible even with the nearby Vegas lights. The moon was a Cheshire cat, smiling down on her. Sara closed her eyes when she heard her name.

"Sara," Grissom repeated. He'd stopped less than ten feet behind her. "Talk to me."

"Is that an order from my supervisor?"

"It's a request. From a friend."

She laughed, shocked by her own bitterness. "Sorry. I just find that funny."

If she'd turned around, she knew she would have seen him tucking his hands into his pockets, his defense mechanism. But she didn't. She couldn't. Not yet.

"Funny?" he asked. "Why?"

"It's not really," Sara replied. "I don't want to talk about what you want me to talk about."

"And what do you think I want you to talk about?"

He was using his teacher-to-student tone. God, she hated that. "It's not going to work, Dr. Grissom. I'm not your student anymore."

"No. No, you're not."

Sara turned to face him just as a car sped by; the wind whipped her hair across her face, making the dark strands dance. "Why are you out here?"

"I…" His hands were already in his pockets, so all he could do to delay answering was to stutter. It was still adorable, even after all the years she'd seen him do it. "I need to know…"

"If I was raped?" She let the words settle between them before continuing, "I wasn't." His shoulders visibly relaxed. "I let a man use me for a night of sex."

His frown returned. "Sara, what I need to know is…"

"Who he was? No one important. Where it happened? A hotel room. If I liked it?" Sara paused. "An orgasm is just a physical reaction to pleasurable stimuli."

Now he was decidedly uncomfortable, and she took a bit of pride in the fact that she could throw off his cool, seen-it-all-twice attitude. "Sara, all I need to know is if you're all right."

"If I'm all right?" she repeated in a near whisper. "You know something?" She smiled back up at the moon. "I don't even know what 'all right' is anymore. But it's certainly not what I am at this moment." Sara met his eyes, the blue pools she used to swear she could drown in. "I'm not all right, Grissom."

He advanced towards her, and had she not been standing at the edge of a heavily trafficked road, she might have stepped back to keep the distance between them. But she couldn't and he approached her until he was standing as close to her as Lawton had been back in the office. "What can I do?"

"Nothing." She swallowed. "That's just it. What I need…you can't give me. If you could, you would have already, a long time ago." A moment passed. "I'm not worth the risk."

Grissom's eyes clouded over, like a sudden storm turning the sky dark. "How long have you known what I said in that investigation room?"

"I heard it all for myself."

He ran his hand down his beard. "You weren't supposed to."

Sara lifted her shoulders. "I'm glad I did. Or else I would have eventually started hating you. Now…"

"Now…what?"

"Now I know what I need to be all right. And it's not you." She looked back the brightly lit sign over the counseling center. "It's in there."

"Sara." He moved even closer, until she could feel the warmth of his body heat. "What does this all mean?"

"It means…I'm on my path. It means you don't have to worry about me anymore. It means I can do this…" Sara closed the space between them and touched her lips to his in a soft kiss that was pure, but hardly innocent. She ended it after only a second by stepping around him. "…and finally tell you, Gil Grissom…I'm over you."

* * *

I'm not a haunted mind,

I'm not a thoughtless kind.

I'd do it if I could,

I hope you know I would.

Buffalo Tom

* * *

To Be Continued 


	9. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Wow. It took a long time to get this chapter out. I apologize. I hope there still a few people out there interested in reading it;) Thanks for all the kind reviews. Enjoy!

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Here's to you, Mr. Sanders."

Sara lifted the plastic cup of sparkling cider that Nick had shoved into her hand a moment earlier and echoed the sentiment. Celebrating Greg's milestone solve (only twenty more cases to go until he could reach CSI Level 2 status) was good for a momentary distraction. Sara wasn't taking any diversion for granted these days; she needed every second she spent at the lab to be filled with some sort of activity. If it wasn't, her thoughts would inevitably turn to Grissom.

Declaring that she was over him hadn't exactly solved all of her issues. Admittedly, it probably would have had a better shot if it hadn't been a bold-faced lie. She wasn't over Grissom. She doubted she ever would be.

Little did she know, as she fake-smiled her way through the impromptu celebration, that the man in question was watching her, studying the expression on her face like he might a rare species of beetle.

She couldn't see him, hidden as he was by the interrogation room glass. It gave him a freedom to stare at her, one that he was unaccustomed to after years of denying himself the simple pleasure of looking at Sara. He had her face memorized. The shape of her eyes, her cheekbones, her lips, the infinite shades of brown in her hair…but those memories had been imprinted on his mind the day he met her, when she was agonizingly young and he was painfully naïve. But not so naïve, he thought, as to ever let himself believe he could have her.

But the woman sipping sparkling cider with her co-workers resembled that fresh-faced college girl about as much as he still looked like his old, quirky geek-self. The arch of her eyebrow was the same and she'd never had the signature space in her teeth closed up by unnecessary orthodontia, but the innocence he'd fallen so hard for so long ago was gone. She'd seen too much, been through too much. The dead had left their mark on her.

And he blamed only himself. He'd led her into this life, convinced that not only could their profession benefit from her intelligence and vitality, but that if they were equals, not student and teacher or young woman and old lech, he might have some part of her, maybe not everything he wanted, but he'd still have her in his life.

He'd had her. And he'd pushed her away, first into the arms of a cheating paramedic, then into the dangerous comfort of alcohol, and finally, into a situation that had resulted in her seeking counseling in a rape crisis center. How much more damage could he do to her? Was he determined to see the very last sparks of life stamped out of her eyes?

The door to the interrogation room burst open, jolting him out of his thoughts. Greg stumbled out, drunk more on excitement anything else. One look from Grissom was all it took for him to sober up.

"I hammered the last nail in that escalating peeping tom's coffin," he blurted out in explanation of the make-shift party in his honor. Greg swallowed and forced a smile. "Wanna join us?"

Grissom was about to answer when Sara's voice cut him off. "Greg, who are you talking…" She appeared in the doorway beside him. "Grissom?"

"Why don't you move the festivities back to the lab?" he heard himself saying in a tone that was a bit too harsh. "And Sara, whenever you're done partying, Brass has something for us in the Julia Sommers case. "

"Anything about her rape?" she asked. He recognized the look that came over her. The anticipation of a fresh lead, a particular sparkle in the dark centers of her eyes. "Has he found any potential rapists?"

"You know as much as I do, Sara."

It wasn't the words themselves so much as the way he said them, and he instantly wished he'd said them some other way. That shimmer in her eyes faded; it was replaced with a mask of cool indifference. He could actually feel her adding a brick onto the wall that stood between them. But it was a brick he had fashioned himself.

"I'm right behind you," she said, her voice flat. Grissom watched her turn back to Greg. She gave him a little smile in response to the sympathy written all over his face. "Don't go getting cocky, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He waved his hand, dismissively.

Following Grissom out to his car, Sara grew inexplicably angry. How dare he be mad at her, especially for this long. He should be happy. She'd let him off the hook. Years of strain between them, all the times she'd misinterpreted his words and actions to mean more than they did…she'd put an end to it all. All right, she'd kissed him, but it was a very little kiss. And after ten years of sexual tension, didn't she deserve it? Had it been so repulsive for him? Why was he so pissed off at her?

In keeping with the lessons she was learning in Lawton's group meetings, Sara decided to confront the problem, straight on, as soon as they were settled in Grissom's Denali, heading back to the crime lab.

"You know, whatever our history, good or bad, I still deserve to be treated with the level of respect that you'd give to the janitor," she snapped.

Grissom kept his eyes steady on the road. "Sara, you made it very clear that we have nothing more to discuss except work."

"It's not your words; it's your attitude," she shot back.

"I have no attitude."

Sara laughed bitterly. "Sure. You're just the picture of professional courtesy." She shook her head. "Why can't you just pretend that nothing's ever happened between us. It won't be hard!" His jaw clenched, as she continued, "All I want is to do my job to the best of my ability. I want to be able to go home at the end of the day to my cat. And I don't want to spend the rest of my life chasing after something that's never going to let me catch it."

There was a short pause. "You have a cat?"

If they hadn't been traveling at fifty miles per hour down the highway, Sara would have exited the car immediately. As it was, all she could do was sit in the passenger's seat and quietly seethe. Condescending, arrogant, obtuse…asshole!

The moment he put the car into park, Sara was out of it. It gave her minimal satisfaction to slam the door closed, but it was something. Without waiting for him, she stalked into the lab.

By the time Grissom caught up, she'd already found Brass and begun pumping him for the details.

"Some say it's professional courtesy to wait until your partner is present before starting the briefing," he said as he entered the lounge.

Sara's eyes narrowed. "Write me up."

Smelling a fight coming on, Brass cleared his throat. "I hadn't gotten to the good stuff yet, Gil. Amber Monahan, age 19. Lives off campus, which made it a little more challenging to track her down." He looked at Sara. "Want to guess how many Ambers are registered at UNLV?" Grissom's frown put him back on track. "Well, this Amber admits to being friends with Julia Sommers. And to knowing her secret."

"Which was?" Sara prompted.

"She was raped."

"We knew that." Grissom couldn't help shooting a look Sara's way.

"Ah, but did you know that she was having a relationship with her rape counselor, Dr. Lawton Forbes?"

Sara did a double-take that might have been comical under better circumstances. "What? She said that?"

"Like, for sure," Brass quipped. "According to Amber, she was nuts about the guy. In fact…"

"It's impossible," Sara interrupted. "He'd never do that…he'd never take advantage of a survivor! Amber must have been mistaken."

"She seemed very certain." Brass looked at Grissom who was strangely quiet. "I'll check it out, of course, but…"

"Do that," she cut him off again. "Because Lawton would never…"

"Lawton?" Grissom glowered at her, his brow dark and drawn. "You're calling him by his first name and you don't think there's any way he could have taken advantage of a young, attractive patient?"

"I call him by his first name because I'm comfortable around him," Sara retorted. "He helped me. He's been a friend to me. Nothing more." She paused. "I respect him and he respects me." Turning to Brass, she went on, "Your witness needs to get her story straight before she tarnishes the career of a great man."

Grissom snorted softly.

"Sara, you know how much stock I put in your intuition," Brass said, before Sara could lash out at Grissom. "But there's more to this." He scratched the back of his head, as if hesitant to say any more. "So, again, according to Amber, the last time she saw Julia…she was heading off to meet Dr. Forbes." He paused. "This was the same night she told her roommate she was going home for the weekend."

"And she was never seen again," Grissom added, unnecessarily.

Sara stood up, shaking her head back and forth vigorously. "It's circumstantial evidence. And we don't deal in that."

Grissom whipped his glasses off. "We deal init all the time, Sara. Build up enough of it, and you've got a case."

"Then find more," she hissed. "But until you do, don't expect me to jump on your bandwagon."

"Well, we have the pubic hair you found on Julia's skirt. We'll get a DNA sample. Will a match be enough evidence for you?"

Sara stared at the man she thought she knew so well. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

Brass whistled lowly. "Someone has a crush." He chuckled. "The girl does have questionable taste in men, I'll give her that."

Grissom barely heard him.

* * *

She didn't intentionally drive to the counseling center; her car simply took her there. She entered the office twenty minutes after the end of the last session of the night. The receptionist, the woman she'd come to know as Callie, was packing up to leave.

"Sara? I'm sorry, honey, you missed the last session."

Hugging her arms around her body, Sara shook her head. "I just need to talk to Law…to Dr. Forbes. He hasn't gone yet?"

"No." Callie paused, looking Sara up and down. "Go on back."

Lawton was in his office, filling out some papers. He glanced up when Sara knocked on the open door frame. "Sara, what a lovely surprise. We all missed you in group tonight."

"I got held up at work." Her lower lip trembled.

"What's wrong?" He crossed to her and reached for her shaking hands. "Did something happen to trigger a memory?"

"No." She looked down at the ground. "I can't tell you everything. I wish I could. I wish I could tell the job, my responsibilities and oaths to it, to go to hell. I wish I could tell him to go to hell."

"Him?" Lawton released her and slipped his own hands into his pockets. "Besides your rapist, you've never mentioned any other men in your life."

"He's not in my life," Sara corrected him. "I mean, he is, but he's not. Not like that."

"But you want him to be?"

"I don't know what I want anymore." Sara pushed a tear off her cheek. "I just don't understand why, the minute I find something that makes me happy, he has to try to take it away from me."

Lawton cleared his throat. "Have you considered the possibility that he might be jealous?"

"Only in the silliest and girliest of my fantasies."

He laughed softly. "I'm sorry, Sara. That wasn't mean to belittle your pain. It's just…"

"Just what?" Suddenly she realized how close they were standing.

"You're a beautiful, vibrant woman. If he doesn't see that…"

Sara blinked. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"I…shouldn't," he said, his voice husky with raw emotion. "You're my patient and it's wrong. I could lose my license, my reputation." He stepped away, turning his back to her. "There's so much I'd have to risk."

"Risks," Sara whispered.

"But you know…"

"I know." She swallowed. "I'm not worth…"

"You're worth it," Lawton said at the same time.

Her throat closed up. "I am?" she asked after a long time had passed.

He moved back to her and gently grasped her shoulders. "If this man has made you doubt your worth, he's the one who needs his head examined." He paused. "And he's not the one for you."

Sara's eyes were closed so she wasn't prepared for his lips pressing against hers. There was no alcohol involved this time, but just as she had with Nick's friend, she let the kiss happen. It was only when his hand cupped her breast that she realized she might be making out with a murderer.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	10. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: So many characters who so don't belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thank you, so much, for all the kind feedback. Yes, it is nice to escape the fluffy bunny stories every now and then, but don't give up on the GSR just yet. I am, after all, a devoted pristess in several shipper fandoms, and one of them is Grissom and Sara.

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

When it came time to pick a CSI to accompany the police in serving a warrant to Dr. Lawton Forbes' home, Grissom was naturally at the top of the list. He was waiting, field kit carefully stocked, almost like he had been anticipating the event, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Brass when he arrived at the upscale, suburban house.

"Got the warrant?" Grissom asked, before he was even out of the car.

Brass patted his coat pocket. "Ink's still wet. How long have you been here?" He thought better of the question. "Never mind. We've got clearance for a DNA sample and anything in plain view, got it?"

"Plain view? Did you tell the judge…"

"I told the judge everything we've got. Which isn't much. An accusation from a near teenager, who happens to have a record for possession. So plain view's the best you're gonna get. I mean it, Gil. No poking into cabinets or drawers or drains. No chemicals, no ALS, no…"

He was interrupted by a man clearing his throat. "Excuse me, officers." Dr. Forbes stood on his front stoop, his arms folded over his expensive shirt. "Can I help you?" When he recognized the two men from his office not too long ago, his expression became friendlier. "Hello again. Do you have more questions about Julia Sommers?"

"In a roundabout way," Brass replied. He pulled out the signed and sealed document. "We have a warrant, Dr. Forbes." He smiled without mirth. "Let's talk inside."

* * *

"You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have…" Sara loaded her toothbrush up with mint paste and paused to stare at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Had the woman staring back at her really and truly kissed her rape counselor, the man who might be connected to a murder she was investigating? It didn't seem quite possible. Like it had happened to someone else, and Sara had just heard about it.

She stuck the brush in her mouth and started scrubbing.

Brass probably had his warrant by now. Grissom had likely pushed him into expediting it. For someone who merely followed the evidence wherever it lead, he had certainly formed an iron-clad opinion as to where this evidence might go. What she couldn't understand was why.

Her three-times daily ritual continued, unhampered by her heavy thoughts. She brushed and brushed and brushed, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.

What had sent her into Lawton's arms? What had taken hold of her body while he was kissing her, touching her? And what had kept her from going over the edge, from making another mistake?

The only answer she could come up with…was Grissom.

Sara rinsed her mouth out and reached for her floss. "…the facts of life."

* * *

"A warrant really wasn't necessary. I would have volunteered a sample." Lawton opened his mouth and allowed Grissom to swab the inside of his cheek.

"Are you admitting to having a relationship with Julia Sommers?" Brass asked.

"I'm not admitting to anything without my lawyer," the doctor replied. "Guilty or innocent, that's just legal common sense."

Brass watched Grissom close up the sample swab and carefully label it. He wasn't cutting any corners, taking any chances. Brass recognized the look in his friend's eye. Grissom was out to hang the guy.

"Well, since you're not under arrest, there's really no need for a lawyer," Brass said. "Why don't you just answer our questions, and maybe we can clear this whole thing up."

Lawton sat back in his leather chair. Like everything else in his neat and orderly home, it was well out of a state employee's price range. "I'm sorry, Captain Brass, but I don't think so. We'll talk if I ever am arrested."

"Dr. Forbes." It was the first time Grissom had spoken to the man since they'd entered his house. "Would you mind if I took a look around? It's in the warrant."

Their stares met and suddenly Brass felt like he was the Crocodile Hunter, observing two alpha males sizing each other up before a territory battle.

"Go right ahead," Lawton finally said. "Take your time."

* * *

Sara wandered around her apartment, absent-mindedly straightening up. There wasn't much out of place; she didn't spend enough time in her home to mess it up. But there were some books that needed to be re-shelved, and a light layer of dust that required elimination.

The last book in the stack that had been accumulating on her coffee table was the entomology text Grissom had given her several Christmases ago. Instead of sliding it back into its place between _Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus_, a well-intentioned, but never read gift from a former college roommate, and a battered copy of _Valley of the Dolls_ that she'd read a hundred times during her short stay with her first foster family, Sara took the book over to her favorite armchair and curled up with it.

She glanced at the couch sitting catty corner to the chair. Grissom had sat there not so long ago while she poured out her heart and her life story. It was the only place in her apartment where she could visualize him. Shaking her head, she opened the book.

Grissom didn't just hand out books as an afterthought gift. No, he was a note-taker. Or more appropriately, a note-leaver. Scattered throughout the text, in margins and beside diagrams, he'd scribbled footnotes for her in black pen, addendums to the information that he'd thought useful. An anecdote here about how a certain species of beetle related to the timeline of a body's decomposition in tropical heat; a one-line notation there about how to deal with a fire ant bite. Always interesting, always appreciated.

Sara closed up the book with a fair amount of force. She'd read too much into those notes at the time. Back then, she'd thought them Grissom's way of telling her that he wanted her to be a part of his super-intelligent, bug-driven life. Now, she was certain that he was only trying to educate her, to make her a better CSI. It was a nice gesture.

So why did she suddenly want to hit something?

* * *

Unlike most bachelors, Dr. Forbes had invested a good chunk of money in a large, luxurious four poster, hand carved Victorian bed. It was obvious to Grissom, who'd made his career out of interpreting such things, that Lawton Forbes invited women into his bed on a fairly regular basis. He'd made it a place women wanted to be, the realization of a typical female fantasy.

It turned Grissom's stomach to think about who might have been in that bed, realizing her fantasies.

"I had the frame imported from England." The doctor entered the room on silent feet. "The antiques dealer swore that Queen Victoria slept on it once."

When Grissom said nothing, and failed to even acknowledge his presence, Lawton came around in front of him, forcing a confrontation.

"I know you work with Sara Sidle," he began. Hearing her name coming from him boiled Grissom's blood. "She's…a special woman. Isn't she?"

"Sara has nothing to do with this investigation," Grissom said, struggling to keep his voice even and detached. "She's no longer on the Julia Sommers case."

"Because she was raped? Like Julia?" He paused. "Or because of me?"

Grissom's eyes narrowed. "What happened to waiting for your lawyer?"

"Am I incriminating myself to suggest that there's a connection between me and Julia Sommers, when you've shown up with a warrant for a DNA sample that you couldn't have gotten unless there was a connection?" He smiled. "Of course I'm connected to Julia. And to Sara. I counseled them both after their ordeals."

"There's a word for what you've done, but it's not counseling."

Lawton stepped forward. "Does it upset you that a woman working under your supervision was assaulted? Do you feel responsible for her, Mr. Grissom?"

"Doctor," he corrected the man.

"Avoiding the question?"

"Ignoring. It has no relevance." Grissom paused. "If I were you, I would get my affairs in order."

The man smirked. "We're intelligent men. We don't need to resort to empty threats." His eyes followed Grissom as he left the bedroom. "Have a nice day, Dr. Grissom."

Brass was waiting for him in the living room. "Let's go," Grissom glowered. "I've got a DNA match to make."

* * *

It was supposed to be her day off, but after an afternoon spent trapped in her apartment with nothing but political babbling on TV and emotional landmines on her bookshelf, Sara needed the sterile comfort of her real home, her lab.

She was just settling down with her notes from the Julia Sommers case when she noticed Grissom pass by the glass wall. He wouldn't be happy to see her putting in overtime, but she couldn't seem to care. They'd been avoiding a real talk for days, and it was only serving to give her an ulcer.

She caught up to him in the DNA lab. Standing just outside, in the corridor, she watched him approach the tech, a new guy she didn't recognize, and ask him something. When the young man shrugged his shoulders, Grissom ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

Sara stepped in front of him as he tried to leave the room. "Can we talk?"

He blew out a breath. "Sara, this isn't a good time."

The words stung, but she was used to it. "Is there ever a good time, Grissom?"

"Sometime when you're actually supposed to be here," he retorted. "Haven't you already maxed out on overtime?"

"What have you got running in there?" she asked.

"DNA."

She didn't need a sixth sense to read between his lines. Suddenly, she knew just what DNA sample he had running. "You really did it," Sara said, coldly. After a moment to collect herself, she went on. "Well. Tell me about it."

"I can't." Grissom adjusted his glasses. "You're not on this case anymore."

If he'd expected the news to push her over the edge, he'd be sorely disappointed. Sara wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "It's probably best," she told him, slipping her shaking hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "I'm too connected."

He blinked. Her calm response had thrown him off. It gave her a mean bit of pleasure. "What did you want to talk about, Sara?"

She never got to answer the question. The unnamed lab tech interrupted them, waving a piece of paper at Grissom. "Results are in," he chirped, obviously proud to show off his skills to the legendary CSI. "Perfect match, Dr. Grissom." He grinned. "Your suspect left a little bit of himself behind on Julia Sommers. And we nailed him!"

Sara tried to swallow a massive lump that suddenly formed in her throat, but it wouldn't go down. She refused to meet Grissom's eyes, convinced that if she saw even a hint of triumph in them, that she might do something she'd later regret.

She didn't expect his next words. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" she struggled to ask. "For being right?" She shook her head. "It might be true that he had a sexual relationship with her, but the presence of one pubic hair is hardly indicative of a murder."

"Are you really so blinded?"

Her head snapped up. "Get off your high horse," Sara whispered. "And try to pretend, just a for a second, that you have a beating heart."

"Sara." He considered her for a long moment. "Go home. As of now, you're on a week's leave. I don't want to see you in this lab for the next seven days."

"Good." Gathering her strength, Sara faced him with a straight back and a head held high. "Because I don't want to be here."

"She's right about one thing, Dr. Grissom." The young lab tech pulled at his ear once Sara had disappeared down the hallway. "I can only say that the guy had sex with Julia Sommers. Not that he murdered her."

Grissom fixed him with a look that could have frozen Lake Mead. "If a word of what just happened gets around this lab, I will fire you myself."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I'm on a roll! Shoot, gotta knock on wood in case I jinx myself. Enjoy this chapter and thanks for the kind feedback thus far!

* * *

Giving Up 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Do you feel sufficiently lawyered-up, Dr. Forbes?" Brass leaned across the metal table in the interrogation room. "Can we talk about Julia Sommers now?" When the man glanced at his attorney and said nothing, Brass went on. "Well, I don't need to tell you about DNA. You're a doctor." 

"I'm a psychiatrist."

"Tomato, to-ma-toe, right? You know how DNA works." He slid a copy of the damning report across the table to Forbes and his lawyer. "Long story short, we found a pubic hair on the clothes Julia Sommers was wearing when she died. It's a match to the DNA sample we took from you, remember?" He paused. "Being such a smart man, how do you explain that?"

Lawton cleared his throat before taking a sip of the water he'd requested at the start of the interview. His eyes slid over to Grissom who sat next to Brass. "All right. Yes, I had a relationship with Julia Sommers."

"You raped her," Grissom clarified.

"No, that was someone in her dorm. I had a relationship with her."

"A doctor/patient one, yes." Grissom shook his head, sickened. "You violated that and took advantage of a vulnerable woman. I call that rape."

"The state of Nevada doesn't," Lawton's lawyer spoke up.

"What about the psychiatric board?" Brass asked.

Lawton narrowed his gaze in on Grissom. "Are we only talking about Julia Sommers, Dr Grissom?"

"You tell me."

"He's not telling you anything else." The lawyer stood up. "He's given you an explanation for your circumstantial DNA findings. So unless you're ready to arrest my client, we're leaving."

Grissom watched Lawton follow his lawyer towards the door. The whole scene was frighteningly familiar. The guilty man, his lawyer, a dead young woman and unwanted thoughts about…

"Dr. Grissom," Lawton said, looking back over his shoulder. "If you see your colleague, Miss Sidle, please tell her we miss her in group."

"Don't make any vacation plans, Dr. Forbes," Brass called out. The door shut behind them. For a long minute, there was silence.

"You should have arrested him," Grissom finally said.

"For what? Questionable ethics?" His friend crossed his arms. "What was that last bit about Sara?"

Standing up, Grissom slid the DNA report back into his folder. "How should I know?"

"Oh, hell." Brass let out a harsh chuckle. "I should have guessed. You don't get into a pissing contest with just any Joe Suspect. So, let me guess. Her suspension…punishment for something relating to Dr. Forbes."

"Sara's not on suspension."

"Then how come no one's seen her for three days?"

Something in the question made Grissom eyes grow wide. "No one? Has she called anyone? Contacted anyone at all?"

Brass frowned. "I can only speak for myself, but I haven't talked to her."

Grissom pushed the folder into his hands. "I have to go."

"Gil, what's going on?" Grissom was already out the door. Brass waited a second before pulling out his phone. "This is Brass," he said a second later. "Send a unit over to CSI Sidle's apartment. Verify her whereabouts." There was a pause. "I don't know the address. Look it up!"

* * *

Getting a call from a co-worker wasn't a totally rare occurrence, but it was rare enough to confuse Sara when she answered her phone and discovered Greg on the other end. 

"Sara," he started, his voice coming down from what could have described as panicked. "You're okay."

"Um…yeah." She swallowed a bite of the bean sprout sandwich she'd made for lunch. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He let out a long sigh. "Grissom called a second ago and asked if I'd talked to you in the past couple of days. I hadn't, so I got a little worried."

She smiled. "Thank you, Greg. But I'm fine. Just bored out of my mind."

"Well, you're the one who dipped into your vacation time."

She licked the corner of her lip. "Is that what Grissom told you?"

"Yeah. So, why are you at home instead of on a cruise, sipping margaritas in the presence of several loin-clothed natives?"

"I get seasick?" Sara set aside her sandwich. "Greg, I really appreciate you worrying about me, but…" A knock on her door interrupted her. The knocking continued, getting louder. "Um…I'll call you right back. There's someone at my door."

"I'll be waiting," she heard him shout through the phone just before she hung up.

Sara crossed to the front door and peeked out the peephole. Through the little glass, she could see Grissom pacing back and forth in front of her door wildly. She took a step back from the door, her heart suddenly pounding.

The knocking started again, even more insistent. "Sara!" she heard him yell. "Sara, open up!"

She looked around, to make sure there were no bras or other embarrassing items strewn anywhere. Juvenile, sure. But better than Grissom accidentally sitting down on a pair of her panties.

After unlocking the deadbolt, Sara pulled the door open. She said nothing in greeting; she simply waited.

Grissom's face upon seeing her was a mixture of emotions, none of which Sara could definitely decipher. When he reached out and grabbed her shoulders, she honestly wasn't sure if he was going to hug her or strangle her.

"You're okay," he breathed. He moved his hands up to cup her face. "You're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?" His hands were hot, or maybe that was just her. His touch was so sudden, so unexpected, that she wouldn't have been at all surprised if her cheeks were flushed. "Grissom…what are you…" She couldn't finish the sentence. There was something in his eyes, something primeval, like he'd released a gate and couldn't be held responsible for what it had held pent up inside of him.

Before she could think of anything to say, he stopped her from thinking at all by pressing his lips to hers in the hottest, hardest kiss of her life. It was the kiss of a desperate man, savage and selfish…and not how it was supposed to happen.

She pushed away from him with both hands to his chest. Instantly, she regretted her rash decision. She should have let him keep kissing her, no matter what might have brought it about. It was the realization of a dream, after all.

"What are you doing?" Sara asked, touching her lips. "Grissom? What's going on?"

"The case…" he started, his words broken up by excess emotion and perhaps by the realization of what he'd just done. "He…today…he said…he hadn't seen you…I hadn't seen you…and with the other girl…maybe girls…I thought…I was worried…"

"Don't you mean concerned?"

Grissom shook his head. "Worried. About you." He sucked in a breath. "I thought…he'd killed…" He stopped.

"You…interviewed Lawton today," she surmised. "He made some comment about me, probably asking where I've been since I haven't been to a group session since you suspended me. And you assumed…" Sara let out a bitter chuckle. "Without any better evidence than that, you assumed that he had killed me and dumped my body in the desert. God, Grissom." She turned and walked towards the kitchen. "If I'm blinded, you're at the very least near-sighted."

"Near-sighted?" he managed to protest, having regained some of his breath. "You're still standing up for the man, even after the DNA test proves he took advantage of Julia Sommers."

"That's all it proves!" She yanked open her fridge and pulled out a beer. "But even if I didn't have the utter lack of evidence on my side, I know him, Grissom. He's not a murderer."

"Didn't you used to think the same thing about your friend in the D.A.'s office?"

Sara slammed the bottle opener onto the tile counter. "Why are you doing this to me!"

"What am I doing, Sara, besides trying to put a cold-blooded killer behind bars?"

"You've decided that the one man in my life who hasn't rejected me, cheated on me, or plied me with alcohol and raped me, is a killer, and you're doing everything in your power to take him away from me!" Sara refused to cry. He'd seen her cry before; it hadn't changed things then. It wouldn't change things now. "Why are you so determined to keep me alone and miserable?

Grissom, realizing the door was still wide open, closed it and faced her again. "Sara, that's not what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?" She lifted her shoulders. "What are you doing, Grissom? Why did you come here? Why did you kiss me when you know and I know and everyone knows that it doesn't mean anything to you!"

"You don't know!" he shouted back.

"I don't? Then it does mean something? What, Grissom? What does it mean?"

He stared at her; the moment hung between them, so thick that it crowded out all the air in the room. Finally, when neither one of them could breathe anymore, he let it go, plunging both of his hands into his curls. "Sara…I can't say what you want me to say."

"That I do know," she said, quietly. "But just…tell me something."

"What?"

"Tell me now, so I can know, once and for all…if you can't say it because you don't feel it."

Her answer came through his silence.

Closing her eyes for a few painful seconds didn't make the dead quiet any easier to bear. When she opened them again, he was looking away from her. Nodding continuously, Sara walked back into the living room, passing right by him, and opened the front door.

"Bye, Grissom," she whispered.

He was only gone for five minutes when there was another knock on the door. But it wasn't him coming back; it was just a uniformed officer, sent by Brass to check up on her. And that was when Sara started to cry.

* * *

Sara was in his head and she wouldn't get out. After leaving her apartment, Grissom tried going back to work, but the absence of her car in her parking spot only served as a reminder of the past half-hour. He turned his car around before he even parked in his own spot. 

He couldn't fathom spending another night alone in his townhouse. Catherine had taken Lindsey to L.A. for the weekend. Brass was working. The guys…they were co-workers. Not friends exactly. Grissom nearly slammed on his brakes in the middle of heavy traffic when he suddenly realized he had nowhere to go.

Somehow, he'd finally done it. He'd made his life's work his life. He barely knew anyone outside of the lab, and those he did know had been connected to the lab at one time or another. Was it Eric Hoffer who'd said "with some people, solitariness is an escape, not from others, but from themselves…for they see in the eyes of others only a reflection"?

If that was true, what vision of himself had he been trying to escape for so many years? Maybe it wasn't a vision, but the lack of one. He'd moved like a ghost through life, the unseen observer, documenting, memorizing, but never participating. Was that why he held back from others? To keep from seeing their vision of him, which might be nothing at all?

But that wasn't true of Sara. There had been a time when he had looked into her eyes and seen a picture of himself that he liked. But now…her eyes were empty. He'd done it to himself. Whatever vision of Gil Grissom she had now was only a portrait of the man who'd kept her at arm's length for six years.

He couldn't internalize this. He needed help, another person's opinion. Someone who could look at him and see past the walls and defenses. Someone who knew him, despite all his best efforts to remain a mystery.

That was how he found himself at Lady Heather's Dominion.

* * *

Lawton's house wasn't hard to find even though Sara had never been there. He was listed right there in the phone book. Forbes, Lawton P, 2612 Mountain View Court. It was a large white structure, identical to all the others around it. Suburban Las Vegas; all the comforts of upper middle class living in the heart of the desert. 

She parked on the street, paused to slip her cell phone into her back pocket, and got out, making no attempt to avoid walking across the carefully irrigated green lawn. There was a car in the driveway that she assumed was his. It was the middle of the afternoon and the sun was doing its best to fry anyone who stepped foot outside.

Sara rang the doorbell once, twice, three times before the door opened to reveal Callie. Having never seen the woman outside of the counseling office, Sara was a bit taken aback.

"Sara," Callie greeted her warmly. "What brings you here?"

"I need…to speak to Lawton," she said. "It's an emergency."

"Come on in, honey. It's boiling out there." Callie ushered her into the foyer and closed the door behind her. The house was spacious, but cool; Sara couldn't help but wonder how much his utility bill was. "I'm sorry, but Dr. Forbes isn't here right now. He's at his lawyer's." Callie paused. "This whole business is so awful. I just don't understand any of it."

Sara nodded. "Will he be back soon? I really need to talk to him."

"I don't know. I'm just here to drop off some papers." She pointed to another area of the house. "The kitchen's through there; you can leave him a message if you want."

"Thanks." Although she wandered through strange houses all the time, it was different when it belonged to someone she knew. Sara entered the kitchen, impressed again at all the space. That was one thing she'd always dreamed of having, a large kitchen. She wasn't much of a cook, but she figured if she had the space and the equipment someday, maybe she might be more inclined to try.

She found a pad of paper and a pen by the phone and had just started jotting down her number when something hit the back of her head so hard that everything went black.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: The chapters keep on coming! (Knocks on wood quickly...) Thanks for the feedback, as always.

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

To call his reception at the Dominion frosty would have been an understatement.

But Heather allowed him past the heavy double doors, into the gothic foyer, probably due more to the fact that she was used to letting men she wasn't particularly fond of into her house than to any desire to talk to him. Whatever her reasons, Grissom was grateful.

She'd cut her hair since the last time he'd seen her, and added some streaks that flattered her incredible face. Even with her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, she looked every bit the mysterious dominatrix.

"You're the last person I expected to see at my door ever again," Heather said, breaking the silence between them. "Which begs the question, what do you want?"

Grissom nodded, as if acknowledging her right to still be angry with him. "I need your help."

"My staff are all accounted for; I started keeping tight tabs on them after the third dead body." She folded her arms over her breasts. "So this can't be related to a case of yours."

"It's not. It's…personal."

She arched one eyebrow at him. "Something new for you."

"And uncomfortable." Grissom hesitated. "I owe you an apology."

"Not for sleeping with me," Heather said, vehemently. "No man apologizes to me for that."

"No. Not for that. For what happened afterwards."

"The part where you accused me of murder?" She adjusted her stance. "I don't hold a grudge. But I don't forget either."

"I don't expect you to. I handled things badly." He shook his head. "There was a lot in my life then…I wasn't prepared to deal with…" He stopped and tried a different approach. "I'm sorry."

Heather studied him for a minute. "You're no longer reading my lips, so I take it your hearing problems have cleared up?"

"Thanks to surgery, yes."

"But there's still something bothering you, isn't there? Or else you wouldn't be here."

Grissom cleared his throat. "I need you to tell me what's wrong with me…and how to fix it."

Another long minute passed. "Well," Heather finally said. "And I thought it was going to be a slow afternoon." She started up the stairs. "Come on," she told him when he didn't immediately follow. "We'll have tea."

* * *

Something was digging into her left butt cheek. The painful pressure roused Sara out of the darkness, but there was little light when she opened her eyes. She was blindfolded, she quickly surmised. And bound at the wrists she discovered when she tried to pull the blindfold off. Whoever had tied her up wasn't a professional; she could have easily removed it. But her captor had lucked out. There wasn't enough room to move her arms in order to do so. Wherever she was, it was small, dark and smelled faintly of oil.

The trunk of someone's car. She knew it for sure when she came around enough to feel the whir of motion underneath her body.

If the car was on the open road, there wasn't much use in calling for help, but that logic didn't stop her from trying for a few seconds.

"Help!" she screamed, trying to kick her legs. "Help me!"

She gave up almost as soon as she started. A pounding headache wasn't helping the situation; all she could recall was something heavy hitting the back of it. Then, nothing. Had she lost minutes or hours? Days, maybe? There was no way to tell. And that frightened her even more.

Her training kicked in and temporarily squashed her instinctual panic. She had better conserve her energy for whatever happened next. She was obviously being taken somewhere. But by who? The last person she'd seen had been Callie, Lawton's receptionist. Was there any way that seemingly frail woman could have knocked her out and stuffed her unconscious body into a car trunk? It didn't seem likely. Unless she was just a rape center secretary by day and a modern Wonder Woman by night.

Maybe there had been a burglar in Lawton's house. If that was true, Callie might also be bound and blindfolded somewhere. The thought bolstered her momentarily, because even though if this was the work of a random stranger and it would be twice as hard for her co-workers to figure out who was behind her kidnapping in time to help her, it meant that the only other person who could be responsible wasn't.

God, if Grissom turned out to be right about Lawton, he was going to be impossible to live with.

Another wave of panic welled up inside her. Why wasn't she taking this more seriously? She'd been assaulted and kidnapped. Normal people wouldn't be thinking about Wonder Woman in the same situation. Unless they were wishing for her powers to help them out. Although could a Lasso of Truth really help her escape the trunk of a moving vehicle?

Okay. That was it. She had to come up with a plan. Whenever the car stopped and the trunk opened, she would just kick with all of her might. If she was lucky, she'd hit her kidnapper. If she was really lucky, it would be in a particularly vulnerable area.

She hadn't counted on passing out again. When she woke up for a second time, she was all alone.

In the middle of the desert.

* * *

"Is that everything?"

"Up until now, yes." Grissom set aside his empty cup. "Heather…"

"I can see why you came here. I'm not sure how I feel about playing shrink for you, but it won't be the first time I've stepped into that role." She refilled their cups from the antique china pot. "Quite a hole you've dug for yourself, Gil."

"I'm nothing if not good at what I do."

"Before I start, I need to know something." Heather added sugar to his tea. "Besides the obvious reasons, why did you sleep with me that night?"

He took a long time to answer which pleased her at first. He was trying to be honest with himself, a habit he needed to get into quickly if he was going to straighten out the mess he'd made of his personal life. But after a few minutes of silence, she decided he still needed a bit of prompting.

"Wasn't I a risk?" she asked, lifting her cup to her lips. "What made me an acceptable one?"

"I suppose you were a risk. But only to my career. Not my…" He stopped.

She smiled ruefully as she set her tea down. "You can say it, Gil. Not a risk to your…"

"Heart." He frowned. "She thinks I don't have one."

"Well, she's hurting. And lashing out at you in the only way she thinks might make an emotional impact." Heather crossed one long, leather-clad leg over the other. "I'm going to guess that she's the only one who could."

"Other people's opinions matter to me. They just don't…"

"Hurt."

Grissom shook his head. "She has too much power over me."

"Power is a tricky thing, Gil. Part of what makes my business so successful is that in the real world, we often have little to no say in who has power over us. Parents, bosses…lovers. You asked me to figure out what's wrong with you and to tell you how to fix it."

"What are you suggesting? I take a whip to one of your girls until I can accept the fact that a woman fifteen years my junior has a level of control over me that I've never given to anyone in my entire life?"

Her eyebrow arched again. "If it was that easy, I'd have you matched with one of them before dinner time. That's not what I had in mind, Gil."

"Just tell me what's wrong with me." He splayed his hands across the crisp, white tablecloth. "And how to fix it. Please."

"You already know what's wrong with you. You're lonely. You've taken something that would give you comfort and happiness and put it up on a forbidden shelf because you're scared of losing control. And while I do think a session or two here would do you a world of good, I know that deep down you already know what you need to do."

The lost look on his face tugged at heartstrings she thought she'd severed years ago. Now she remembered what had prompted her to take him into her bed. "What?" he asked again in a near whisper.

Heather swallowed a lump in her throat. "Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for."

"Dag Hammarskjold." He looked down at his hands, chuckling softly. "And she quotes Scandanavian diplomats, too."

"I'm multi-talented." She smiled. "I'm sure you remember that, though."

The look he gave her was much more like the man she'd almost fallen for. Heather nodded. "You're going to be all right, Gil Grissom. I think you just needed to hear it from someone over whom you have no power."

"I can't undo everything I've done to her. Everything I've failed to do."

"No. But every minute from now on is a new chance to do things differently." Heather raised one slender shoulder. "Or are you waiting for another near-death experience?"

Grissom's cell phone rang just then, sparing him from having to think about that possibility. "Grissom."

"Gris, it's Greg. I can't reach Sara. There was someone at the door and she was supposed to call me back, but that was two hours ago and now I'm really worried and her cell goes straight to voice mail, it's weird because she keeps that thing on no matter what and…"

"Greg. Slow down. I just saw Sara and she's fine."

"Then why hasn't she called me back? She promised she'd call me back. She always calls back; it's like a security system, you know? I mean, she lives alone and I live alone, so we have this system and…"

"Greg!" He rubbed his forehead. "When I saw Sara, she was pretty upset. She probably turned her phone off to avoid…everyone."

"Pretty upset?" Greg's tone went up a few notches. "Why? What happened? She was fine when I talked to her, except for someone being at her…door." Realization set in. "It was you, wasn't it? What did you do to her?"

"This isn't a good time to talk. Keep trying Sara; I'm sure she'll turn her phone back on eventually."

But Greg wouldn't be put off so easily. "You don't even care, do you? It really wouldn't matter to you if something had happened to her! God, I'm so stupid! I actually believed that you didn't visit her when she was in the hospital because you didn't want to see her like that, all banged up and broken. But it wasn't that you cared too much. It's that you didn't…you don't care at all!" He went on, even when Grissom tried to break in, "I am going to keep trying her. Because I give a damn. Sorry you can't say the same."

Grissom closed up his phone. Heather wasn't watching him, but it was obvious she'd been listening. Analyzing.

"I'm sure she's fine. She's just mad at me. With every right to be, of course."

Heather nodded. "I'm sure." She paused. "Every minute from now on is an opportunity, Gil. But you're not guaranteed a single one of them." She stood up. "It was good to see you again. Now, if you don't mind, I'll have to ask you to leave. You never know when a client might show up, and there are a few of them who wouldn't like running into CSI Grissom on their way inside."

He nodded, but his mind was already out the door. Heather saw him out, unable to ignore that in the short time it took to descend the stairs, he managed to make three out-going calls. She didn't need to look at his phone to know who he was trying to reach out and touch.

* * *

Her kidnapper (kidnappers?) had at least removed the blindfold. Sara wasn't sure if she should be grateful for that small favor. It just meant that she could clearly see the danger she was now in. Stranded in the desert in the heat of the day without shade or water…ignorance really was bliss.

She allowed herself sixty seconds of pure fear. Sixty seconds to be absolutely convinced that she was going to die alone in the middle of nowhere and that she'd end up on Doc Robbins' slab as nothing but a pile of bones. Sixty seconds to think of all the things she'd never done, and now never would. Sixty seconds worth of goodbyes to her friends.

Sixty beats of her heart to wish she could see Grissom one last time.

Then it was time to get down to the business of saving herself. Blinking away her tears, Sara struggled to sit up. Her hands were still bound in front of her rather tightly. She'd start on getting free of those first. It turned out to be a much more difficult task when her head felt like Athena herself was trying to be born from her skull. She smiled as she fought the ropes; Grissom would have appreciated the Greco-Roman mythological reference.

Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead and the back of her neck. The sun beat down on her without mercy. By the time she freed her right hand, she could already feel the tell-tale skin tightness that signaled a serious sunburn. Why did she have to have such fair skin? Grissom could go five hours at an outdoor crime scene with a light layer of SPF 10 and come out with a slightly deeper tan; she needed 50 and had to reapply every hour on the hour. And she still got freckles.

Whatever had been digging into her backside in the trunk was still bugging her. When her hands were finally free, Sara reached back to find the source of the irritation. She winced; the ropes had left raw, bloody marks on her wrists. But the pain turned out to be worth it. There was something hard in her back pocket.

Her cell phone.

Sara pulled it out, her fingers trembling from sheer relief. The battery was fully charged. She kissed the phone before flipping it open.

_Searching for signal…searching for signal…searching for signal…out of service area._

Her elation was so quickly replaced with disappointment that it physically hurt. Sara looked around, trying to get her bearings. There were mountains all around her, but no real way to identify any of them. The sun's position gave her some idea of direction, but which way should she go? She could be anywhere. She might not even be in Nevada anymore. Death Valley wasn't that far a drive from Vegas.

If she was in California, she'd need to head east. If she was in the Wildlife Refuge, she'd need to head south. There were too many possibilities and with no real way to narrow any of them down, Sara decided to be as logical as possible. Assuming that her kidnapper was the same person who killed Julia Sommers…and she wasn't quite ready to deal with the implications of that just yet…then it was likely that she'd been dumped in or around the same area where Julia was found. That would mean she was approximately thirty miles to the north of Las Vegas in the Refuge. It was a start.

She had at least a few hours until the sun set, when she'd be in real trouble. Heat could hurt, but cold could kill. A tank top and jeans were hardly going to protect her from the nighttime elements. But all she could do was get going and pray she came into range of a cell tower soon.

But before she started out, she noticed something. Fresh tire treads in the rocky sand. Whoever had driven her out there had left something behind. Every CSI instinct compelled her to process her own crime scene. She carefully wound up the rope; there could be epithelial cells from the person who had tied her up. With the camera in her cell phone, she snapped as many pictures as she could of the tire tracks. If she was going to die in the desert, she wanted the responsibility party, whoever that might be, to fry.

Sara took a breath, closed up her phone, and started walking.

* * *

_You've reached CSI Sara Sidle. I'm unable to answer my phone right now, but if you leave your name and a brief message, I'll return your call as soon as possible. If this is an emergency regarding an active case, please contact the Las Vegas Crime Lab and ask for Supervisor Gil Grissom. Thank you._

It was the thirty-third time he'd listened to the message. By the twentieth, his heart rate was up to ninety, but it wasn't anger he was feeling. It was dread. She wasn't at her apartment. She wasn't at the lab. She wasn't even at the rape crisis center.

By the fortieth time, he'd stopped expecting her to answer. Now all he wanted was to hear her voice.

Sara was missing. And suddenly all of those minutes he thought he'd always have were anything but guaranteed.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I know I'm kind of saturating ya'll with chapters, but I wanted to get this one out while I could. There's a hurricane a'comin'! (I live in central Florida.) This is part of my storm prepardedness. If I lose power, it could be awhile before there's another chapter. Last year, during Charley, my parents didn't have power for a month. Let's hope Wilma misses us, so I can keep on writing. Meanwhile, enjoy! And thanks once again.

* * *

Giving Up

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Grissom's call interrupted a lively debate over whether the man two tables over from them was really Adam Sandler. Lindsey swore he was; Catherine wasn't so sure. It was the most pleasant mother/daughter moment they'd had in L.A., maybe even that they'd had in years. So far their bonding weekend had consisted of her buying things for her daughter. And Lindsey pretending they weren't related. But Grissom ended all of that.

"Catherine," he said, not bothering with greetings. "Sara's missing."

"How long?" she immediately asked. Across the table, Lindsey sipped her soda and watched her with suspicious eyes.

"Only a couple of hours," he replied. "But…"

"I know." Catherine looked up at the baby blue sky. "It's Sara." She gave Lindsey a helpless look. The girl scowled into her drink. "If this were anyone else asking me to cut my vacation short, I'd hang up and let them stew in their misery, just so you know."

"Thank you, Catherine."

"We'll leave as soon as we can," she told him.

Catherine closed up her phone and carefully placed it next to her plate. Taking a breath, she addressed her daughter, who had already crossed her arms tightly over her chest, like a shield. "You know the woman I work with? Sara?"

"Yeah. When dad died…" She raised one shoulder. "She was nice to me. You were a bitch to her."

"Hello, language?" Catherine hesitated before going on; Lindsey wasn't entirely wrong. "Well. Sara is missing."

"And Mr. Grissom wants you help find her?"

"Pretty much." She shook her head. "Linds, believe me. This is not what I had planned for this weekend."

"Mom." She heaved a great, dramatic sigh. "It's okay."

Catherine frowned, puzzled. "It is?"

"Yeah. You need to help find her. Maybe it'll make Mr. Grissom happy again."

"How do you figure that?"

"He loves Sara. Right?"

She stared at her daughter for a moment before laughing. "You're a pretty perceptive kid, you know that?"

"Do perceptive kids get more allowance?"

Catherine signaled the waiter to bring their check. "Perceptive kids know to quit while they're ahead."

* * *

There was a lone buzzard circling overhead and Sara was trying very hard not to take it as an omen.

The sun was making a dive for the far off western horizon; she guessed there was approximately two hours until sunset, and that she'd been walking for at least that long, as well. But with no solid evidence backing that up, she had no idea. Time was meaningless out there, especially when your cell phone's clock relied on a tower signal in order to display it.

But she wouldn't be discouraged. Yes, her feet hurt. Hurt like hell, technically. Her boots and jeans up to her knees were white with sandy dust. Her arms and probably her face were beet red. She was so thirsty her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. But she wasn't nauseated. And she was still sweating, so there was still hydration in her body. She wasn't suffering from heat exhaustion or stroke. Yet.

The only symptoms of the heat she was suffering from were mental. She was plagued with all kinds of weird thoughts. Like, would Grissom visit her body in the morgue if she didn't make it? What if they found her in an advanced state of decomposition and she smelled like the man in the duffel bag had? Would Grissom use lemons to wash her away?

No. Grissom's last image of her wasn't going to be of a bloated, insect-infested corpse. Let it be of her triumphantly emerging from the desert, having survived the elements with nothing more than a sunburn and some blisters on her feet. Let him carry that picture of her from then on. It was a fitting way to leave.

She wasn't sure if the idea itself was a product of the heat, or if it had always been in the back of her mind and this experience had just brought it out, but the further Sara walked, the more she became convinced of one thing.

It was time to leave Las Vegas.

* * *

"Here's what we know. The last time anyone saw Sara was at one p.m. She was at her apartment and she was fine." Greg paused to give Grissom a dirty look. "Relatively fine. But that was six hours ago. Since then, nothing."

"And since it's only been six hours, it's way too early for an official missing persons report," Warrick said, almost to himself.

"Ecklie won't send a team to Sara's without a report. And you all can't process because even if you found something, your personal relationships with her would put the evidence into legal limbo," Brass summed up.

"So, what do we do?" Nick rubbed his hands together. Very cowboy itching for action. "We can't just sit around Grissom's place waiting for someone else to find her."

"Short of getting into our cars and driving all over, shouting her name, I don't know." Greg looked around. "I was hoping you guys might have some ideas."

"Are we sure she didn't just need to get away for a few days?" Warrick asked. "Girl's been stressed. Before we call out the cavalry, are we sure she's not halfway through a mud bath at the Mediterranean?"

"Sara Sidle?" was all Nick had to say.

Warrick nodded, resigned. "Just a thought."

"Grissom." Greg looked at the older man again. He was sitting in the same position he had been since he sat back down after opening the door to let them in. As far as he knew, Grissom hadn't even blinked since they'd all arrived. Greg waved his hand in front of the man's face. "Grissom!"

Finally , he was acknowledged. "I heard you the first time, Greg."

"Anything you want to add here? Or are you just wondering how soon you can get us all out of your house?"

Nick, Warrick and Brass exchanged looks.

But if they were expecting a scene, they wound up disappointed. Grissom ignored Greg's sarcasm and biting accusations. In a sudden burst of movement that startled them all, he shot to his feet.

"Boss?" Nick ventured to ask. "What are you thinking?"

"Lawton Forbes," Grissom announced. His expression was foreign to the other men. They'd never seen him quite so possessed, not even when confronted with the worst criminals imaginable. "He knows where she is. If we want to find her, we have to find him."

"Gil," Brass began.

"He took her, Jim. It's what he does. He seduces and he kills. I know it and you know it!"

"I know that we don't have enough evidence to say that for sure," Brass went on. "So just…take a second and think about this rationally."

"Rationally?" Grissom grabbed a paperweight from the coffee table and hurtled it across the room, not seeming to care that it hit one of his low-hanging, framed butterflies, shattering the glass. "Don't look for rational here," he yelled. "Sara could be…" His chin dropped to his chest. The changes in his demeanor were dizzing. When he looked up again, his eyes red-rimmed. "You'll go?"

Brass nodded once. "I'll go. The D.A. should have the extended warrant from the DNA match by now. Nick, Warrick, you wanna process?"

Both men agreed.

"Greg." Brass jerked his head towards Grissom. "Keep an eye on him."

"Yeah." Greg glanced at the half-broken man. "Sure."

When the three men were gone, there was utter silence. Eventually, Greg couldn't take it anymore. Clearing his throat, he pointed to the broken glass. "Want me to take care of that?"

"It doesn't matter," Grissom said, dully. And it didn't. It was just a one part of a collection he'd been working on for most of his life. All that time and effort and all he had to show for it was a wall of perfectly mounted dead things. He hadn't killed the butterflies, but in displaying their bodies, was he just as responsible for them? If Sara died…he would bear just as much responsibility for her death. He closed his eyes. He wasn't making sense because he couldn't think clearly. And he could always think clearly.

Except, he admitted to himself, whenever Sara was involved.

Greg hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his pants, unsure of what to do. He was still full of righteous indignation over Grissom's initial lack of reaction to Sara's disappearance. But maybe he'd been hasty in judging his boss. The man standing in front of him was seriously grieving. Already. What would he be like if something much worse than vanishing for a few hours had happened to Sara? Greg wasn't sure. But he was fairly certain he didn't want to be around to see it.

"I'll get a broom," Greg finally said. "Do you want to save the butterfly?"

"Yes." Grissom's answer was so faint that Greg barely even heard it. "I want to save her."

* * *

She'd stopped sweating. And it wasn't just because the sun had melted into the horizon and darkness was descending. Any CSI in a desert environment had processed the body of a heat stroke victim. The warning signs were all there. Fatigue, dry skin, dizziness, sudden lack of sweat. It didn't matter that the temperature would soon plummet; the damage would already be done. In fact, the sudden cold might just make her condition worse. Her body was already weakened from the heat. She had no natural defenses against the cold now. She'd succumb even faster.

If she didn't get a signal soon, it would be too late.

Even if she'd let herself cry, she wouldn't have been able to. She was too dehydrated. Like she'd been wrung out to dry. This was not a good way to go. It was undignified. She would have been really pissed off if she hadn't been so exhausted.

Sara's feet gave out on her without warning. One minute she was walking; the next, she was on hands and knees, gasping for breath. She rubbed her hand across her mouth, not surprised to find her lips cracked and swollen.

Racked with dry sobs, Sara tried to scream, but all that came out was a weak moan. She didn't want to give up. She wanted to make that triumphant appearance from her ordeal. But it wasn't going to happen. She'd tried her hardest, but she couldn't beat nature.

Sara fell over on her side, ignoring the sharp rocks that now dug into her body. Still, she held onto the rope and her phone. She'd be found with them. She had to be.

Rolling onto her back, Sara looked up at the stars. She should have counted them years ago, but she'd always been working when they were out. It was too late now. She closed her eyes, preparing to give up.

Beep…beep…beep…beep.

It was an auditory hallucination, she told herself. Nothing more.

Beep…beep…beep…beep.

Auditory hallucination. Not her cell phone desperately trying to tell her something.

Almost as if to assure herself that it was her imagination so she could rest in peace, Sara lifted the phone up to her face.

_Entering service area. 8:15 p.m. New voice mail._

She had no energy left to react. All she could do was enter three numbers.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"My name…is Sara Sidle. Help me. Please."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Well, Hurricane Wilma blew over us with a lot of rain and a lot wind, but not much more. I got half a day off of work (and the power stayed on), so I got to write! Thanks for all your best wishes and kind words. And enjoy this chapter;)

* * *

Giving Up 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

I know it's late, late in the game,  
But my feelings, my true feelings haven't changed,  
Here in my heart.

* * *

"Back again, Captain Brass?" Lawton shook his head, amused. "I assume you have a more detailed warrant this time?" 

"Not only that." Brass glanced over his shoulder at the two CSI's. "I have them."

Having been filled in on the Julia Sommers case and its connection to Sara, both Nick and Warrick were eager to get inside the doctor's house. They gave the man in question matching cool smiles as they filed past him, kits in hand.

"I don't know what you're expecting to find," Lawton called out after them. "I've already admitted to having a relationship with Julia."

Nick turned back just long to enough to give him a cocky wink. "Don't you worry 'bout us," he said, laying the accent on thick. "If it's here, we'll find it."

Twenty minutes later, Warrick found it.

"Same length, same color," he said to Nick in a low tone. "What do you think?"

Standing in the doctor's kitchen, Nick examined the medium length brown hairs Warrick had discovered on the otherwise pristine floor. "We'll have to test it. But yeah." He swore sharply. "They could be Sara's."

"We gotta tell Grissom."

Nick methodically bagged the hairs. "After the test. When we know for sure."

Warrick motioned Brass over and filled him in. A moment later, Brass approached Lawton. "Congratulations, Doctor. You get another all expenses paid trip to the fabulous Las Vegas Police…" He was cut off by his phone ringing. "Hold that thought," he told Lawton as he pulled out his cell. "Brass."

After listening for a moment, he switched the phone to his other ear. "Are you sure? Are you one hundred, god-damn percent sure that it's her? Is she okay?" Another few seconds passed. "Yeah. Call him. But just…give it a few minutes, Vartann."

He snapped the phone shut just as Nick and Warrick approached. "I'll take Dr. Happy Pants in. You get back to Grissom's."

"Why?" Nick asked.

"What's going on?" Warrick added.

"He'll be getting a phone call in a few minutes. And it's going to take more than Greg Sanders to keep him from losing it when he does."

* * *

If there really was a therapeutic quality to a cup of hot tea, it was lost on Grissom. He didn't know why Greg had made it for him and he was even less sure about why he'd taken it from him. Likely, it was a peace offering, although an unnecessary gesture. He wasn't mad at his young CSI; his conclusions had been perfectly logical given the evidence. To all outward appearances, he didn't care about Sara. He'd worked very hard at crafting and maintaining that façade. Therefore, he couldn't fault those who bought into it. 

Grissom set the cup aside, untouched. Pressing the tips of his fingers together, he rested his forehead on his thumbs. Greg came out of the kitchen just then. He stood for a second, watching his boss.

The doorbell rang, startling both men into action. Greg reached the door first and opened it to reveal Nick and Warrick. They'd obviously just jogged from their car, which was haphazardly parked in the driveway.

Greg swallowed a sudden lump of fear in his throat. "What's happened?" Grissom came up behind him, but said nothing. "Did you find something?"

Before either man could answer, Grissom's phone rang.

Nick look straight at Grissom. "You need to answer that."

He did so, but slowly. "Grissom."

"Grissom, this is Detective Vartann." The man paused. "Half an hour ago, a 911 operator received a call from one of your CSIs."

"Sara," was all he said. "Where is she?"

"Well…that's sort of our question, too."

* * *

_"My name…is Sara Sidle. Help me. Please."_

_"Sara, I'm Mary. What's your emergency? Sara? Are you still there?"_

_"My name is Sara Sidle. I'm a CSI with the Vegas crime lab."_

_"I hear you, Sara. Tell me what's wrong so I can help you."_

_"I'm in the desert. Someone left me here. I don't know who. I've been walking for…hours. Please help me."_

_"We're going to, Sara. Do you have any idea where in the desert you are? Can you see any landmarks?"_

_"I think…the Wildlife Refuge. But I don't know. I was…blindfolded."_

_"You were abducted? Sara? Sara, are you there?"_

_"I'm cold."_

_"Sara?"_

_"Call…Grissom. Grissom will find me."_

Brass glanced at the man as he listened to the 911 tape of Sara's call. His hands were clenched in fists so tight that his knuckles were white. Upon hearing his name, he pushed away from the table.

_"Grissom? Who's Grissom, Sara?"_

_"Gil Grissom."_

_"Is he your husband? Boyfriend."_

_"Neither. He's my boss. Just my boss. Nothing more. Never anything more."_

_"Okay, Sara, we're having some trouble finding your signal. You understand about cell phone towers?"_

_"I do."_

_"We can't seem to pinpoint which tower your phone is picking up; your signal is weak. Anything you can tell us about where you are will really help us."_

_"I can't see anything now. It's dark. And cold. It was so hot, and now it's so cold."_

_"Hold on, Sara. We're going to find you. I promise."_

Vartann pushed a button on the recording device, pausing the tape. "The signal faded out a few seconds later."

"She's all alone out there," Grissom said between clenched teeth. "And she's cold."

"But she's alive," Greg reminded him. "She's still alive." He gave Grissom a worried look. "You're not going to throw anything, are you?"

He was silenced with a look from Brass. Grissom gripped the edge of the desk. "You weren't able to pinpoint her exact signal, but were you able to narrow it down?"

"Yeah," Vartann said. "It's probably the farthest tower out, at the edge of the Wildlife Refuge. But that tower covers a huge area. She could be anywhere in it."

"Well, are you mobilizing search teams?" When there was no reply, Grissom voice went up a notch. "Are you doing anything to find her? Anything at all!"

"Gil, calm down."

"She's not dead, Jim! Why are you all acting like she is?"

He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "The search teams are preparing to head out. Because of the lack of signal strength, we're starting on the edge of the signal range and working in towards the tower.

"This is Sara, Jim. Sara. My Sara."

"I know," Brass said quietly.

"Captain Brass!" A uniformed officer burst into the room. "We've got her back! 911's putting her straight through. Line 4."

Grissom grabbed the phone before anyone else could even reach for it.

* * *

I know, I know I was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong,  
I'd like to make amends for the love that I've never, ever, ever, ever shown 

Just don't give up on me, every word is true.

* * *

When the signal died during her first call, Sara thought that was it. Her last life line had given out. And as scared as she'd been in that moment, it was almost a relief. Talking expended so much energy. She needed that energy as the temperature dropped. Her skin was still hot to the touch, but she was cold down to her very bones. 

Still lying on the rocky ground, Sara closed up the phone and took a deep breath. She really had absolutely no luck at all. And now it didn't matter. Because it was all about to be over.

"Grissom," she whispered. "I never told you…I love you."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sara knew what she had to do. Drawing every bit of strength left in her body, she sat up. When she could, she struggled to get to her knees, then her feet. The whole world spun, but Sara forced herself to stay standing. If the signal was too weak to track her, she needed to get closer to the tower. And that meant she needed to keep walking.

That's just what she did. She walked and walked and walked until her feet were numb, glancing at her phone every few seconds until she saw it come to life again.

Falling to her knees again, she dialed 911 and prayed.

* * *

"Sara! Sara, honey, is that you?" 

"Grissom?"

"Oh god…Sara. I'm here. I'm here."

"Can you hear me now?"

"That's okay. Make jokes. Just stay with me." Grissom sat down because his legs would no longer support him. "We're tracking you, Sara. It won't be long, I promise."

"Don't start making promises," she said weakly. "That's one thing you've…never done. You can't break a promise you never made."

He swallowed heavily. "Honey, I know you're upset with me, but you have to believe that I'm coming to get you. I will find you, Sara."

"Why do you only call me 'honey' when something bad happens?"

"I don't know," Grissom replied, honestly. There was a long pause. "Sara? Sara, stay with me!"

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. "For now." There was something unsettling about that last part, but Grissom chose to ignore the warning bells going off in his head for the moment. "I'm tired, Grissom," Sara went on. "It's cold…and I'm tired."

"I know, honey. But you can't go to sleep. Not just yet." He looked up at Brass; his old friend made a gesture to suggest that if he was going out with the rescue teams, now was the time. "Sara, I have to switch phones. It'll only a take a second. Okay?"

"Why?"

"I'm heading out with the search party, but I'm going to stay with you. Understand? I'm not leaving you, honey. Sara? Answer me, Sara!"

"It's okay…if you don't find me in time. I'm ready to go, Grissom."

"Don't even think like that!" he ordered. "Understand me? Sara?"

"Gil." Brass cleared his throat. "They're going to transfer her to your cell."

"Sara, hang on. This will only take a second." Grissom pressed the hold button and hung up the phone with great reluctance. He met Greg's stare for a brief second.

"She doesn't sound good," Greg said, echoing Grissom's thoughts. "There's got to be a better way to find her. GPS in her phone? We've used it before."

"Work on it," Grissom ordered. "You know where I'll be."

* * *

"Give us some good news, Buddy," Warrick said to the new DNA tech as he and Nick entered the room. 

The impossibly young guy frowned. "Which result would be good? A match or no match?"

"Let's think. We found hairs with skin tags, which means they were ripped out. I'd say it'd be good if they didn't match our friend and colleague," Nick informed him.

"Then…no. The news isn't good. In fact, the news sucks." Buddy, as he'd been christened by Warrick and would ever be known as, despite the fact that his name was Tim, handed Nick the results. "The DNA on file for Sara is an exact match to the hairs. I'm sorry."

"Well, at least now we know who put took her. And when we find her…alive, because damnit, we will…we can put that son of a bitch behind bars where he belongs," Nick said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Hey." Catherine breezed into the lab just then, her hair windblown. "I'm here. Where's Grissom?"

* * *

"You've got to keep talking to me, Sara." 

"Too tired. Told you already."

"Honey, it'll keep you warm." Grissom glanced at Brass as he drove the Denali down the dark highway. "Tell me about your cat. You said you had one, remember?"

"I don't," she said, her voice sounding small even through the cell phone. "I don't know what I was saying then. I was mad at you." She paused. "Still am, a little."

"That's okay. I understand."

Sara sighed and the tired sound sent a pang straight through his heart. "I just wanted to be happy…while I could. And you wouldn't let me."

"Honey…there's so many things you need to know." The car hit a pothole just then; he gripped the dashboard with one hand. "Things I should have told you years ago."

"I would have liked to have heard them. You know what else I would have liked?"

"What?" A few seconds passed. "Sara? Talk to me, Sara."

"I would have liked to wake up next to you," Sara whispered. "I hated sleeping alone sometimes."

Grissom frowned. "Stop talking in the past tense, Sara. We're coming to get you right now."

"I'm sorry, Grissom. You'll be too late." Her laugh was drained of all joy. "Grissom. Even now I can't call you 'Gil'."

"Honey, you can call me anything you want. You always could."

"No. Too much water…under our bridge." She sighed again. "Just going to close my eyes for a second…"

"No, Sara…Sara!" The phone clicked on the other end, then there was silence. "Sara!" Grissom pulled the phone away from his ear, clutching it in his hand so hard that at any second, it might have snapped in two. "She's gone."

Brass took his eyes from the road only for a second. "We'll find her, Gil."

"She's gone," he repeated.

Brass' phone rang just then. "What?" he said in curt greeting, after digging the device out of his jacket pocket.

"It's me. Greg." The young CSI cleared his throat. "I know where Sara is."

* * *

She hadn't meant to close up the phone when she closed her eyes; it had just been a reflex. Her whole body had suddenly curled up, desperately seeking the last bits of warmth she possessed. Even so, all she could seem to do was shiver as she drifted into dangerous slumber. 

Her dreams were laced with Grissom. His face came to her so many times, starting from the very first time she'd ever seen it. She fallen instantly and fallen hard for those eyes. From all the way across a crowded lecture hall, they'd captivated her. And never let go.

There was a light and she felt herself smiling because she'd never believed in the heavenly gates, the light at the end of the tunnel, even life after death itself. But there it was, shining down on her, so bright that she had to…close her eyes? But…her eyes were already closed. Weren't they?

"Sara…Sara…Sara…" Someone was calling her name over and over again. She wanted to tell them to shut up, let her sleep. "Honey…"

There was a shadow in the light now, a head blocking the brightness. Sara squinted, searching for features within the dark shape. She saw blue.

"I'm here. Sara…Sara, please…say something. Sara!"

"Gil." She felt her lips moving, heard the word coming out on a whisper.

Hands touched her body and the pain jolted her back into reality. She screamed; her arms were on fire.

"I'm sorry! Sara, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She whimpered as he went on to say, "But I have to do this, honey."

And then she was in his arms, being lifted into the air. The pain was a dull, continuous throb, but the cold was seeping away as the warmth from his body seeped in. His chest was comfortable, so comfortable that she could fall asleep again. But she couldn't until she told him something. The thing that she needed to tell him; the thing that had kept her going so she might be able to tell him.

"Love you," she murmured. "I love you…Gil."

The thud of his heartbeat against her ear tripled. "Oh god, honey…" She felt lips on the crown of her head and although his hot breath was painful against her burned scalp, she was too tired to protest. "Please, Sara," he pleaded with her. "Please don't give up on me."

She felt him laying her down on a gurney. She didn't want to let go anymore; her fingers clutched at the collar of his shirt.

Then, his mouth brushed the most delicate of kisses across her cracked lips. "I love you, too," he whispered.

And then she was pulled away from him and loaded onto an ambulance. The last thing she saw before the doors were closed was his face.

* * *

I'll give you my everything, all of my love, all of my love, all of my love, love, love 

Just don't give up on me

Oh please, please, please

Don't give up on me.

- Solomon Burke

* * *

To Be Continued 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Once again, my deepest thanks for all the kind words you've had about this story. I'd say more, but it's really late and I'm really tired. So, enjoy!

* * *

Giving Up 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

And Eve said let's give it a try 

Now lead us not into temptation

But no matter how hard I try

Eve is the apple of my eye.

- Bell X1

* * *

Grissom watched the ambulance race away, carrying off the woman he loved with all sirens blaring. Brass let him watch in reverent silence until the blue and red lights all but disappeared into the darkness. He came up behind his friend and waited. 

"Tell me she's going to be all right, Jim."

He didn't even hesitate. "She'll be all right. She doesn't give up easily." He couldn't resist adding, "On anything."

"Yeah."

Brass looked down at the two items in his gloved hands. "She had these on her."

Grissom finally turned away from the direction the ambulance had taken. Brass held Sara's cell phone and a length of bloody rope. Her wrists had been rubbed raw…that was Sara's blood. Grissom looked away from it and only took the phone.

He started scrolling through the phone's recent activity. Two outgoing calls to 911, countless incoming calls from his number and what he assumed was Greg's. And in between, nearly an entire memory chip's worth of photos. Frowning, Grissom pulled them up.

"What've you got?" Brass asked, looking over his shoulder.

It was an unnecessary question. Both men instantly recognized the neat and orderly documentation of a set of dusty tire tracks. It was Sara's precise camera work.

"She processed her own crime scene," Grissom said, his voice shaky. He closed the phone up in his fist. "Only my Sara."

"If she's your Sara, why is she on her way to the hospital all alone?"

Grissom's eyes flew open. "I didn't think…" He stopped. "I promised her I wouldn't leave her alone."

"So go now," Brass ordered. "We've got things covered here. This isn't the primary crime scene, anyways. I'll send some rookies out to follow her tracks as far as they can be followed. But even if they find something, you can't process, anyways."

Grissom nodded to all of it, but made no movement towards the car. "Now you're thinking when you should be moving." Brass sighed. "Do I even want to know about what?"

"Love the heart that hurts you, but never hurt the heart that loves you.' Vipin Sharma."

"I don't speak cryptic."

"I think…" Grissom looked up at the star-dotted sky. "I think I made a promise tonight…that I might not be able to keep."

"Jesus, Gil." Brass ran his hand down his chin, exasperated. "Okay. I'm not the go-to guy when it comes to relationships, but I'm going to say something here. You're crazy about this girl. You know, I know it, everyone involved in Vegas law enforcement knows it. Now…she knows it, too. What's the big, damn deal?"

"Everything changes after 'I love you'."

"And…change is bad?"

"You can judge your age by the amount of pain you feel when you come in contact with a new idea." Grissom started off towards the car. "Pearl S. Buck."

"Two ridiculously esoteric quotes in one night," Brass muttered. "I'm the luckiest little police man in the world." Spotting two uniformed officers, he flagged them down. "Get this stuff to the lab," he ordered one of them, handing the young man the rope and phone. To the other one, he said, "Let's get to work. This is one bad guy we can't afford to let get away."

* * *

"So…" Nick entered the strangely silent break room and stopped short. It was like all the energy he'd had a second ago had been zapped away, merely by looking at the two men seated at the conference table. Neither Greg nor Warrick acknowledged him; they continued to sit and stare into empty coffee cups. "I've got news." 

"Good or bad?" Warrick asked.

"Uncertain." Walking over to the coffee pot, Nick went on, "Sara's car was found abandoned at McCarran a little while ago."

"To get rid of it, or make it look like she took off?"

Nick answered Warrick's question with a shrug. "Depends if it was locked or not. Taylor from days is processing. He's a good guy; he'll keep us in the loop."

"What do we do in the mean time?" Greg asked. His tone was dull, but dark.

"Nothing." Nick returned to the table with his coffee. "Brass is on the scene. Catherine's on her way to the hospital. And we're hands off." He took a sip and winced from the heat. "Ecklie so wants to nail our asses for processing Forbes' house. But since we were technically on the Julia Sommers case, he can't."

"Where's Grissom?" Nick had no answer to that. "Is he with Sara?" Greg pressed on. When he still got no reply, he pushed his chair back and shot to his feet. "Well, that's a resounding 'no' if I've ever heard one." He cursed, particularly foully.

"Hey, Greggo." Warrick threw him a look. "Cool it."

"Why does she love him? Really, can someone tell me? After all of this…after everything…why does she still love him?"

"Because." Greg waited for Nick to go on. Finally, Nick noticed. "That's all I've got, man."

Shaking his head, Greg stormed out of the room.

"He still hung up on her?"

"Nah. No more than I am." Nick swallowed the last of his coffee and threw away the Styrofoam cup. "My cell's on if you hear anything."

"Where are you going?"

"There's 500,000 people in Las Vegas. I'm just looking for one of 'em."

* * *

Catherine's heels clicked a steady pattern against the immaculate white floors of Desert Palm Hospital. She wasn't sure why Ecklie had given her this assignment; she had worked with Sara for a long time. Certainly, she was no less biased than Nick or Warrick or Greg. But then, her oft-times disdain of Sara wasn't exactly a well-kept secret around the lab. Maybe Ecklie thought she didn't give a damn what happened to Sara, good or bad. She was going to have to work on that, she decided. 

Kit in hand, Catherine approached the admitting desk.

"I'm looking for Sara Sidle," she asked the attending nurse. After receiving a blank look, she clarified, "Woman brought in from the desert?"

Recognition dawned. "The doctors are with her right now. If you'll take a seat, I'll let you know when she can have visitors."

Catherine plastered on her best bitchy smile. "How about you tell me where she is, and I won't make a scene?"

Scowling, the woman pointed down the hall. "Curtain five."

During the short time it took her to reach curtain five, Catherine mentally prepared herself for what she was about to see. It wouldn't be anything new, and yet…it would be entirely different. There wasn't a nameless victim waiting for her behind the curtain. It was Sara. A woman she might not always agree with, or even get along with, but someone she respected. And, if she was being honest with herself, someone she sort of liked. It was nice to not always be the only set of breasts on the team.

She just hoped it wasn't too late to be friends with her co-worker.

Catherine pushed aside the curtain and waited for the first doctor to acknowledge her. "Catherine Willows. Crime lab," she said, flashing her badge. Her composure wavered slightly when a nurse moved and she got her first look at Sara. "How is she?"

"She's got second degree sunburns on her arms, face and scalp and she's severely dehydrated. But I think once we get her electrolytes back into balance, she'll recover quickly. That is, if her concussion proves to be minor."

"Concussion?"

"We'll know more after the CAT scan. Initial X-ray shows no skull fracture, though, so I'm optimistic." The doctor hesitated. "Will we need to check for sexual assault?"

"God…" Catherine shook her bangs out of her eyes. "I don't know. I guess so…just in case. I gather, then, she hasn't regained consciousness? At least not enough to tell you anything regarding that?"

"She's in and out. When she is awake, she keeps asking for someone named Grissom."

"Well, that tells us one thing."

The doctor frowned. "What's that?"

Catherine reached for her cell phone in order to relay the news to the concerned parties waiting back at the lab. "No brain damage."

* * *

It was through an act of sheer luck, and perhaps even divine intervention, that Nick found Grissom in only the fifth place he thought to look for him. 

The concrete patio sat in the shadows of the casino off of which a man had been pushed six years earlier. Nick remembered well, because it had been one of his first cases after being promoted to CSI III. He'd worked the scene with Grissom because Catherine wouldn't let anyone else work the Holly Gribbs case.

"She walked back into my life here," Grissom said before Nick even got a single word out. He was sitting on a stone bench, framed by a flower bed, looking out at nothing.

Nick approached him like he would a wounded dog, hands in his pockets, gait subdued. "I remember," he said. "I thought she was cute. A little loud, and more than a little competitive, but definitely a hottie." Grissom's lack of reaction had him worried. "'Course, once I started thinking of her like a sister, it got harder to think of her like that." He sat down next to his boss. "What did you think of her the first time you saw her?"

"Young," Grissom replied.

"That's all?"

"She was young, Nick. Barely old enough to drink." He didn't have to see Nick's pointed look in order to go on. "Young. And…beautiful."

"You ever tell her that?"

"Yes," Grissom replied, surprising him. "Sometimes I'm not all that heartless."

Moments passed in silence broken only by the sounds of the Strip. "So, Catherine called. She's gonna be okay, Gris." Nick glanced at the older man. "Are you?"

"My heart rate's pushing 100." Grissom steepled his fingers tightly together. "I'm mad as hell."

"Mad?" He frowned. "At Forbes?"

"Yes. But also…you."

The conversation was not going in the direction he had anticipated. Confused, Nick shook his head. "Me? What did I do?"

Grissom's voice rose with each angry word. "You set her up on that blind date. You introduced her to one of your Neanderthal frat brothers who got her drunk, had his way with her, and…"

Nick cut him off. "Whoa, wait. Wait. What are you talking about? Sara said that she and Kevin just didn't work out. She never told me…"

"If she hadn't been used and tossed aside by your so-called friend, she never would have needed counseling. And she never would have met that nauseating excuse for a psychiatrist. And she never would have been kidnapped and left to die in the desert!"

"You're seriously blaming all of this on me?" A vein rang along the length of Nick's neck, a testament to his own mounting anger. "I'll shoulder some of the guilt, Grissom, but I'm gonna put some on you, too." He twisted his hands together. "When it comes to Sara, you're a freaking hot and cold faucet. You've run her in so many circles, it's amazing she's still walking straight. But what's even more amazing is that she's still here at all. And I don't know if you've been watching, but Sara's not the same woman I met right here six years ago. You can say it's just the job, but I know better. It's you."

Nick stood up. "I respect you, Grissom. When it comes to work, you're my mentor. But as for everything else, I would no more look to you for an example than I would a serial killer."

"You're right." Grissom's words stopped Nick from leaving. "I'm sorry. This wasn't your fault, Nick."

"I told you. I'll take some of the guilt." He sat back down. "She avoided me like the plague after that date with Kevin; I should've tried harder to find out why." Nick's fingernails dug into his palms. "And trust me, I'll deal with Kevin." He relaxed his fists. "But you've got to do something, too. Instead of sitting here in the dark, you should be sitting next to her in the hospital."

"Telling her how I feel about her?"

"Baby steps, Gris." Nick's anger dissipated with an easy, southern smile. "I heard this quote awhile back. I've been saving it up. Never figured we'd have a talk like this and I'd get to use it, but here goes." He cleared his throat. "'We are all a little weird and life's little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutual weirdness and call it love.'"

A ghost of a smile graced Grissom's face. "Who said that?"

"Anonymous," Nick replied.

"The wisest of all men is anonymous." Grissom looked down at his hands. "Tell me something. If you thought she was attractive, and you hadn't yet started thinking of her in a brotherly way…why didn't you go after her?"

"Because. She's your girl, Gris. I didn't need to be CSI III to figure that one out."

* * *

Sara woke up to the steady beat of her own heart monitor. Upon opening her eyes, she quickly discerned several things. One, she wasn't in the desert. Two, she wasn't in much pain. And three…she wasn't alone. 

"Hey." The person sitting next to her bed smiled at her. "About time you woke up. I'm out of back issues of _People_."

Sara couldn't quite make her mouth move right; her lips felt too big for her face. She tried running her tongue over them to wet them, but couldn't.

Catherine offered her an ice chip. "They said you could have some when you came around." She gently slid the chip between Sara's sun-swollen lips. After a moment, she asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Probably…better…than I look." The wispy quality of her voice shocked her. "What are you…doing here?"

"Processing," Catherine replied, honestly. "And, okay, waiting for you to come around."

"Is Grissom…here, too?"

To avoid answering, Catherine slipped her another ice chip. "Tell me what you remember, Sara."

She thought as the ice melted on her tongue. "Grissom…on the phone. He said…he would find me. He did?"

"He did." Having already gleaned from Brass the juicy details about Sara's rescue, more specifically Grissom's part in it, Catherine bit her lip when Sara failed to go on. "You don't remember him finding you?"

Sara shook her head as much as she could against the starched pillow.

Oh Gil, Catherine thought as she fed Sara another ice chip. You either just got a second chance...or got off way too easy.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: This chapter has had a short, but interesting life. It started off very different than how it ended up. And I owe most of the changes I made to my father. Daddy and I are both CSI fans, but where I watch for the relationships, he's about the science and only the science. So when we got into a conversation tonight about the characters, I was pleasantly surprised, to say the least. When asked about Sara, he had one thing to say. And I quote, "She's quite the lost soul, isn't she?" All through dinner, I couldn't stop thinking about that. And when I got home, I scrapped everything I had on this chapter so far, and wrote what follows.

Thanks for continuing to follow this story. It means a lot to me.

* * *

Giving Up 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_"Grissom."_

_"Hmm?"_

_"When did you first know that you loved me?"_

_"You want me to pinpoint an exact second?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Can you do the same?"_

_"Sure. But you haven't asked me. I've asked you."_

_"And now I'm curious. If you tell me, I'll tell you."_

_"It was when you stole my beef jerky."_

_"I didn't steal it. I asked you to volunteer it. It was all in the name of science."_

_"Your own lecture and you couldn't remember to bring something for your bugs to chomp on."_

_"I was distracted that morning."_

_"By what?"_

_"By the leggy brunette who stole my parking spot five minutes before the lecture was set to start."_

_"Wow, what a bitch."_

_"Well, I thought so at the time. And I confess, I've thought the same thing several times since then. But…that didn't stop me from falling for her when she got out of her car, blew me a kiss, and told me better luck next time."_

_"I paid for that in beef jerky, Grissom. Grissom…"_

"Grissom!"

Catherine pressed a cool cloth against Sara's forehead. Shaking her head, she told Nick, "She's been like this for the past hour. Nightmares, I guess. Starring you-know-who."

The woman in question tossed her head against her pillow, her burned brow furred in anguish. "Grissom…" she murmured again in her sleep.

Nick set down the flowers he'd brought and approached the hospital bed. "I figured he'd be here by now." He made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. "So much for my great anonymous quote."

"Your what?"

"Never mind." He took the cloth from her and dipped it back into the bowl of ice water on the rolling tray table. "I can take over, Cath, if you've gotta get home."

"I should check on Lindsey." She hesitated. "You saw Grissom, then?"

"I saw him."

His tone told her all she needed to know. "Um…the day shift guy assigned to Sara's case called awhile ago. He needs to know when she wakes up, so he can come take her statement."

"I'll take care of it." Nick gently dabbed Sara's cheeks with the cold washcloth. "She will wake up, won't she?"

"CAT scan showed nothing but a minor concussion. Once she's rehydrated, she's supposed to be just fine."

"But?"

"I think she'd get better a whole lot faster if someone else was here taking care of her." Catherine paused. "Where is he, Nick?"

"He said he needed to stop and get something. And that he'd meet me here." Nick's jaw twitched. "Naïve Nicky believed him."

"He could still be coming."

"I won't be holding my breath."

Pausing at the door, she watched him for a second as he took the chair she'd been occupying for the past few hours. She was almost a hundred percent sure that Nick's devotion to Sara was nothing more than what he felt for his own biological sisters. And she was two hundred percent sure that for Sara, there was only one man, and he wasn't their resident cowboy.

It was almost too bad. Shaking her head, she pulled the door open and walked out. They would have been cute together.

* * *

Here I am, where I've been 

I've walked a hundred miles in tobacco skin

And my clothes are worn and gritty.

And I've known ugliness.

Now show me something pretty.

* * *

There was an accident on the Strip and Gil Grissom was stuck between two tour buses and a Hummer limousine. For the first time in his life, he understood the concept of road rage. 

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, his hands clutching the steering wheel so tight that he was in danger of ripping it away. "It's an accident, not a floor show, people. You drive by it without stopping to look."

Two minutes later, he'd moved no more than two yards down the road.

"Damnit!" His forehead touched the wheel right before he pushed away from it with a violent burst of speed. "Why are you doing this to me?"

He asked the question to no one in particular, and if he'd been pressed to point the finger of blame for his current situation at anyone, he'd only have ended up pointing to himself. Instead of going straight to the hospital, he'd made a foolish stop at his townhouse that had cost him time and put him right in the middle of this rush-hour mess.

The thing he'd stopped for lay on the passenger's seat. The glass might have been broken, but the butterfly remained intact; there had to be some deeper meaning in that. Parallels between the winged creature and the woman lying in a Desert Palm hospital bed. Both things of great beauty that he'd kept separated from himself by a thin layer of glass. Delicate and fascinating…easily broken, but even more easily lost.

He ran the back of his hand over his mouth as he came to yet another short stop, only inches from where he'd been before.

Karma, Grissom thought. It really does exist.

* * *

_"Sara."_

_"What?"_

_"You will leave me, you know."_

_"I will?"_

_"It's inevitable."_

_"Then why did you make love to me tonight?"_

_"A mistake. Occasionally, I make them."_

_"All mistakes should feel this good, Grissom…"_

"Hey, whoa. Easy there." With infinite care, Greg guided Sara's head back to her pillow. She'd woken up so suddenly that he hadn't been prepared for it. When Nick had left to head back to the lab, he assured Greg that she'd continue to be out for a long time.

So she'd really caught him off guard by sitting up in bed, calling out a single name. "Sara," he continued softly. "It's okay."

She was confused; it was written all over her face. "How long have I been out?"

"Awhile." He watched her look around with frantic eyes. "Catherine went home to check on Lindsey. Nick was here for awhile, but he had some stuff to take care of. He'll be back."

"Where's Grissom?" was all Sara wanted to know.

Greg cleared his throat. "I, um…I don't know, Sara. I'm sorry."

"Did he have to leave?" When Greg said nothing, she looked away. "So…it was just a dream."

"What was? Sara?"

She shrugged her shoulders as much as she could. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters now."

"It matters to me."

Sara looked back at him. "Can you get a nurse? My arms…hurt."

"Sure." He scrambled to his feet, eager to help. "I'll be right back."

He returned a few minutes later with a nurse who administered a hypodermic of medication into Sara's IV. The blissful black of unconsciousness claimed her again. No dreams, no nightmares.

No Grissom.

* * *

I was a dumb punk kid with nothing to lose 

And too much weight for walking shoes.

I could have died from being boring.

As for loneliness

She greets me every morning.

* * *

He was ten minutes away from the hospital when his phone rang. 

The vibration of his cell phone in his jacket pocket startled him. Automatically, without thinking, he reached for it. Pavlov would have been proud.

"Grissom," he answered. Too late he realized he hadn't checked to see who was calling him.

"Gil, we've got a 419 out at Lake Mead. Overton Beach." Ecklie paused. "I've assigned you."

It took him several seconds to process this. "Conrad, I don't know if you've been under a rock for the past six hours, but…"

He was cut off. "I know all about Sidle's situation. But this isn't a request, Gil. It's an assignment."

Anger crept into Grissom's chest, hot and acute. "Assign someone else."

"It's not that simple."

"Of course it's that simple. I'm not the only CSI in Vegas."

"No, you're just the only entomologist," Ecklie countered. "The body has extensive insect activity."

"A lot of them do. Get someone else to process, and I'll follow up with the bugs later."

"No. I'm sorry, Gil, but you're on this case from the start. I don't have to tell you how crucial it is to establish a time line immediately. And if you aren't part of the initial investigation, any defense attorney worth his salary will be able to rip apart the TOD evidence on the stand. It's happened before."

His voice took on a deadly quality foreign to them both. "I'm only going to say this once more. Assign someone else."

Ecklie was quiet for a moment. "You're on the case. Or you're out of my lab."

"Why?" Grissom slowly shook his head. "You've got grudges against me; I get that. But her…why?"

"Gil, is she your girlfriend? Lover? Significant other?" Ecklie waited for him to answer, but got nothing. "I didn't think so. Detective Vargas is on the scene; he's expecting you. Good luck." Ecklie hung up, leaving him in turmoil.

There were two paths in front of him. And he could only take one.

Even as he slammed on the brakes and made a U-turn towards Lake Mead, he knew that he was making the wrong choice. But Rome wasn't built in a day. Leopards never changed their spots.

And Gil Grissom had work to do.

* * *

_"I want you to know why I'm leaving."_

_"You're leaving me before I can leave you?"_

_"Goodbye, Sara."_

_"But…I love you."_

_"Don't worry. The room's been paid for."_

_"Grissom…"_

_"Have breakfast on me. Whatever you want."_

She opened her eyes to the glaring white of the overhead lights. In the chair next to her bed, Greg snored softly.

While he slept, Sara cried.

* * *

At the most I'm a glare

I'm the hopeless son who's hardly there.

I'm the open sign that's always busted.

I'm the friend you need, but can't be trusted.

- Patrick Park, "Something Pretty"

* * *

To Be Continued 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I continue to be so grateful for the reviews and the hits; I'm flattered that people are still reading this story. Thank you, and thank you again. I hope it continues to entertain.

* * *

Giving Up 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Gil." 

He looked up from his microscope and focused on the woman standing in the doorway to his office. "Catherine."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Identifying a particular stage in the life cycle of the rove beetle," he told her, returning to his work.

She propped her hands up on her hips. "You're working."

"I am." Grissom reached for a specimen jar that contained several pupa casings. "I'm almost done."

"You're working," she repeated.

He frowned and glanced up at her again. "Is there something else you want to say to me?"

"Oh…" Catherine's laughter was laced with frustration. "So many choice phrases…must restrain self…" She heaved a great sigh. "I know this sort of thing isn't your strong suit, but can you think of any other place you really ought to be right now?"

Grissom leaned back in his chair. "Catherine…"

"Work with me here, Gil. I know you can do it."

"You don't understand…"

She approached his desk. "I'll give you a hint. It's a really shitty place to wake up in all alone."

"Catherine." He removed his glasses. "As soon as I'm done here, I will be there. But…"

"No 'buts' allowed, Gil. This isn't like walking out of Ecklie's banquet or…or bailing on a date before the entrée arrives."

"I had no choice," Grissom told her. "Ecklie laid down an ultimatum."

"Since when do you give a two-ton pile of crap about what Ecklie wants?"

He pointed at her with his glasses. "You're always telling me to be more political."

"And when did you start listening to me?"

"You're not making this any easier, you know."

"Good!" Catherine threw up her hands. "It's not supposed to be easy, Gil. It's messy and complicated and you have a strong chance of getting burned. But it's worth it. I thought we went through this years ago! See…you weren't listening!"

"A lot changed tonight. I needed time to process it all."

"And have you?"

He hesitated. "I will. When I'm done here, I'm heading straight to the hospital."

"And you're sure you won't be too late?"

Her words temporarily stunned him. With a frown deeply etched on his forehead, he shook his head. "I told her I loved her, Catherine. She knows…everything."

Catherine bit down on her tongue. "She does."

"Yes." He stood up. "I listen to you, Catherine. Back then, I sent her the plant and we worked it out. She stayed. I know she'll understand this; the job is just as important to her as it is to me. And she knows what a jackass Ecklie can be."

"You're taking a lot on faith, Gil." She backed up towards the door. "When you do get burned, don't come crying to me."

He contemplated her words for a long time after she'd left. The bugs were preserved; he could analyze them later. Grissom gathered his files and stuffed them in his briefcase before heading out the door.

* * *

Silence and quiet 

Again inmy life

Far from these moments

I wish I was

* * *

"Warrick, you really don't have to do this." 

"Well, this thing isn't motorized, so yeah, I kinda do have to push it." He grasped the handles on the back of the hospital wheelchair. "Although I still think it wouldn't have killed them to keep you under observation for awhile."

"It could have something to do with me signing a paper saying they tried to hold me hostage and I chose to be free."

"Sara Sidle," he reprimanded.

She pumped her fist into the air as much as she could with all the bandages on her arms. "Fight the man, 'Rick."

"And what happens if you keel over in a couple of hours?"

"I pour the rest of the bottle down the drain and call it a night?"

He stopped in front of the elevator and pushed the down button. "I get it. Near-death situations make you funny."

"I'm lubricated with a vat of medicated aloe lotion and wrapped in more protection than a senior jock on prom night." Her words were light, but her tone was not. "All I've got left is my sense of humor."

The elevator doors opened and he pushed her inside. "Whatever works for you."

Warrick got her downstairs and into the passenger's seat of his SUV before she spoke again. "Really, all bad joking aside, thank you for this."

"You know it's cool, girl." He came around to the driver's side, got in, and started up the car. "So…not that I'm complaining…" he hedged, pulling away from the curb. "But where's Greg?"

"Sent him home when he started drooling in his sleep. I don't do saliva."

"Nick?"

"At the lab, I think."

"Catherine?"

"I don't know."

"What about…"

"Warrick." She turned her head to glare at him. "Stop. Please."

"Yeah." He turned onto the main road. "Sorry."

Minutes passed in silence until Warrick pulled into her apartment complex. He put the car in park and sat back.

Sara looked out the window. "I really thought I'd never get home again."

"You went through hell, Sara. But you survived."

"I'm a survivor." She closed her eyes for a second. "I hate that word."

"Look, I know you already told the whole story for the record, but if you don't mind me asking…who did this to you?"

"I don't know," she whispered a moment later. "I never saw anyone."

"Do you think it could have been…?"

"He wouldn't hurt me."

Warrick nodded, but not in understanding. In placation. "Okay. No more questions; I promise."

Another minute passed. "Warrick, have you ever heard of the International Fellowship of Forensic Scientists?"

"IFFS? Yeah, I've gotten some paper from them. Why?"

She continued to stare out the window. "You know, they've done a lot of work in Bosnia, Iraq, Cambodia…helping dig up and identify genocide victims in mass graves. They also help train criminalists in less developed countries."

"CSI's Without Borders. But why are you…" He stopped. "Sara…you're not thinking about…"

"I'm just thinking out loud." She blinked out of her stare and smiled at him around the bandages on her face. "Thanks for the ride. I can take it from here."

"Like hell you can." He jumped out of the car and came around to her side, opening the door. "C'mon. I'm not leaving until you're settled in and I've seen you eat something."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Guess there's no paper I can sign to get me out of this one, is there?"

"No." He helped her out of the car. "Don't try to fight the power when you look like King Tut."

"Aww, with that bedside manner, it's no wonder you work with the dead."

He laughed as he guided up towards her front door. "I could say the same thing about your sense of humor."

* * *

Undo this leash 

You say I tied

When only our fears are to blame this time

And what am I to you?

Just spit it out

I'm not afraid of the words that you hide

* * *

With the framed butterfly in one hand and a potted orchid in the other, Grissom approached the Desert Palm admittance desk. 

"Sara Sidle's room number."

The man behind the desk started typing on his computer. "Sara with an 'h'?"

"No. Just S-A-R-A."

He backspaced. "S-I-D-E-L?"

"L-E." Grissom cleared his throat. "Could you hurry, please?"

The man finished typing. "Sara Sidle was discharged an hour ago."

"Discharged? How can that be?"

"I don't know, sir."

Grissom set the orchid down on the counter. "Who was her doctor?"

"I'm sorry, I can't give out that information."

"I'm her emergency contact. I'd like to know the name of the quack who discharged a woman pulled half-dead out of the desert less than twelve hours ago!"

The man sighed. "Sir, if you could just calm down…"

"Never mind." Grissom picked the plant back up. "Thank you for your help."

* * *

"Hey, Stokes." Taylor, the day shift CSI assigned to Sara's case, caught up with Nick in the lab parking lot. "You heading home?" 

"Yeah. I need a shower in the worst way. But I've got a minute." He lowered his sunglasses to see the man better in the glare of the rising sun. "You've got news?"

"I promised I'd keep you in the loop," Taylor reminded him. "So, we found fresh epithelials on the rope, along with Sidle's blood. DNA's running them now."

"Great. Make sure they're compared to the sample on file for Dr. Lawton Forbes."

"I remember. As for her car, it was found locked. You know what that means."

Nick nodded. "He wanted everyone to think she skipped town. He thought this out, I'll give him that. 'Course, he's had practice."

"Well, we found hairs that clearly don't belong to Sidle in the driver's seat. He must have worn gloves, though. No prints. Anywhere. But in the trunk, we found blood and hairs."

"Sara's?"

"Presumably. But those results aren't back yet either."

"Dumped her in the desert via her own car." Nick swore under his breath. "He better be glad I won't be the one interrogating him."

Taylor cleared his throat. "So…how far in the loop do you want to be?"

"Um…all the way. Why?"

"Well…she is your teammate. Your friend." He hesitated. "It's good news. Just that the rape kit came back negative. No fluids, no trauma."

Nick expelled a short breath. "Okay. Hadn't even thought about that possibility." Once he had regained his composure, he nodded. "Thanks, man. I owe you one."

"Nothing owed," Taylor assured him. "Sidle's one of us."

Once inside his car, Nick pounded his fist against the steering wheel. Once, twice, three times…until his knuckles were bloody.

* * *

After all we have been through 

I can only look at you

Through the eyes you lied to

I'm givin' up, givin' up

I'm givin' up on you

* * *

Grissom pulled into the guest parking spot next to Sara's empty, assigned space. He kept the motor running for a minute while he mapped out a plan of things to say to her. 

"Sara," he started, watching himself in the rearview mirror. "Remember on the phone, I told you there were things I needed to tell you. Things I should have told you a long time ago. Well, here they are."

He shook his head, took a breath and started again. "Sara, I have hurt you and let you down and I will do whatever you want me to do if you'll just say it's not too late."

Swearing, he started one more time. "When I told you I loved you, it wasn't because of the situation or because I almost lost you. It's just what I feel. Every single day. It's what I lie to myself about, and what I try to hide from everyone else. Including you."

Grissom gave his reflection one last look. "Don't blow this," he told himself.

When he reached Sara's door, he only hesitated for a second before he knocked. The butterfly was carefully tucked under his arm. The orchid was in his hand, ready to work its healing powers of apology.

The door swung open. And all he could say was, "Hi."

Sara turned and limped away. But she left the door open. He took it as a silent invitation. Entering, he closed it behind him. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours since they'd fought right here?

"Are you all right?" Grissom asked. "You're limping."

"Blisters on my feet," she replied, tersely. "Warrick's already force-fed me. I have plenty of supplies and I'm consenting to two weeks paid sick leave. I'm fine. You've fulfilled your obligations as my supervisor. So, you can go now."

"Sara." He shook his head, confused. "I came here to see you. It's not an obligation."

"Right. An obligation would have been a five minute stop by the hospital. But you couldn't even manage that."

"I..."

"I'm grateful for you finding me. Don't think I'm not. I owe you my life. That's a debt I can never repay."

"You'd never have to. Sara..."

Sara eased herself down onto the couch. "Grissom, I look like crap. I feel like hell. And, no offense, I don't have the energy to deal with you right now."

"I don't understand. After what happened last night…"

"It doesn't matter."

He looked down at the orchid's white blossom. "It doesn't?"

"Should it? Is it going to change things between us?"

"It…should." Grissom frowned. "Things…will be different."

Sara touched the bandage across her nose. "Why?"

"Because…" He stopped. "Sara, when you went missing, I…"

"It doesn't matter," she said again. "I'm done, Grissom. I made a decision while I waited for you to show up at the hospital. I'm not letting this go on. I'm stopping it." Sara drew in a deep breath. "I won't just be spending these two weeks recuperating. I'll be getting ready."

A few seconds passed. "Getting ready for what?"

"To move." The words hung in the air between them. "I'm leaving. And please, no plants. No speeches about the lab needing me. This is something that's long overdue."

He needed to sit down, but somehow managed to keep standing. "If this is what you want…I won't try to talk you out of it." Grissom's eyes met hers. "There's really nothing that happened last night…that might make you stay?"

She shook her head. And broke his heart. Like he'd always known she would.

* * *

After all if there is no way out 

If you cannot stand beside me

There isn't love

There is only pride

I'm givin' up, I'm givin' up this fight

* * *

Nick's cell rang just as the microwave beeped and the Cowboys scored a touchdown. With the skill of a long-time bachelor, he answered the phone, pulled out his dinner and muted the TV almost all at the same time. 

"Stokes."

"Hey, man. It's Taylor."

He nearly dropped the hot bowl of reheated chili. "What's going on?"

"We got the DNA results back."

Nick leaned against the kitchen counter. "Go ahead."

"The hairs and blood in the trunk belong to Sidle. No surprise there."

"The ropes?"

Taylor paused. "Yeah, that's where it gets weird. The epithelial cells we found on the ropes didn't match the reference sample."

"What?" Nick switched the phone to his other ear. "You're shitting me."

"Wish I was. But I don't have to tell you, DNA doesn't lie. The cells on the rope not only don't belong to Lawton Forbes, they're not even XY."

"A woman's DNA?" He shook his head. "Sara's?"

"No match to Sidle. Unknown female." Taylor cleared his throat. "Makes life a little more interesting."

"Interesting." Nick snorted softly. "Not always a good thing."

* * *

To Be Continued 

A/N: The song is "Giving Up" by Lara Fabian, and it's what inspired this whole story. The IFFS, as far as I know, does not exist. Thanks for reading!


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: As always, I'm crazy appreciative of all the people still reading, and especially thankful to those who take the time to review. Hugs to all! Enjoy!

* * *

Giving Up 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Maybe I would feel better alone 

Or just feel something, my heart is turning to stone

So, so slow

Can you feel me letting go?

I know that we turn away when the cracks begin to show

And now we're

Sleeping with the television and all the lights on

One of us is leaving soon, but we're both already gone.

Stuck at the lost and found, we watch things disappear

Looking for the missing piece, but it was never here.

- Adrienne Pierce, "Lost and Found"

* * *

Grissom rarely sought out anyone in the lab; usually it was others who trailed after him, seeking an audience. So he couldn't help but feel a little unusual when he had to flag down Nick a week after Sara's brush with death. 

"What?" Nick asked him, once he'd stopped. His tone was cool, edging the line of subordinate, but not quite crossing it.

"Um…" Now that he had the younger man's attention, Grissom wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to say to him. Maybe he just wanted to talk to someone. It seemed like his entire team had decided to give him the silent treatment. He'd often thought about how nice it would be if everyone would just leave him be.

He should have known to be careful what he wished for.

Grissom cleared his throat. "Where are you heading?"

"Station," Nick replied, shortly.

"Interrogation?"

"Yeah." He folded his arms high on his chest. "I'm late. So, is there something you need?"

"Who are you interrogating?"

"I'm not interrogating anyone. Taylor from days invited me to…" Nick stopped. "Brass filled you in, didn't he?"

Sometimes the best way to find something out was to pretend you already knew about it. Grissom merely looked at Nick and waited for him to go on.

"Fine. Yes, I'm heading over to watch them interrogate Callie Lamb, Forbes' secretary." He paused. "She's the only other woman in the scenario, being that she's the last person Sara remembers seeing before she was knocked out. They've got enough for a warrant for her DNA, but Brass is playing this cool. He wants her to hang herself, and let the evidence just bury her."

"You are hands off on this, aren't you?"

Nick let out a strangled chuckle. "Yeah. I'm hands off. Nicky's being a smart boy, happy?"

"I didn't mean to imply…"

"Forget it." He started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. "You want to come, don't you?" The sudden life in Grissom's eyes gave away his answer. "I can't stop you; you've got as much right to be there as I do." Nick started off again; Grissom followed.

Halfway down the hall, Nick turned to face him again. "She's leaving."

Grissom lowered his eyes. "I know."

"What are you going to do to stop her?"

"She's made up her mind, Nick. There's nothing more I can do."

"When Sofia was going to leave, you took her on a date." Nick sighed when Grissom gave him startled look. "Rumor mill."

"Sofia was…different."

"No. Sara's the different one. Sofia's supposed to be the one you treat like any other CSI in this building." Nick shook his head. "Did we not have a heart-to-heart a matter of days ago where you pretty much admitted that you're crazy about Sara? Or am I the crazy one and just imagined it all?"

"Nick, circumstances can slant what we…"

"So it was just the circumstances speaking?" He blew out a breath. "Well, that clears up why she's leaving." He looked his boss straight in the eye. "Careful. You're out-Grissom-ing yourself."

For a third time, Nick started walking away, then looked back. "We can ride together to P.D. No reason to pollute the atmosphere more just because you're stubborn as all hell."

* * *

"Where do you think they'll send you?" 

Sara glanced at the man sprawled on her couch in a state of over-the-top melancholy. "It's a little early to ask that question. I haven't been accepted yet, Greg. I only sent in my application a couple of days ago."

"It's just a matter of time 'til they do. How could they not? You're the best."

The vote of confidence caused a grin to spread on her face. The annoying itchiness followed a second later. Sara touched her face. "I told you not to make me smile," she scolded him. "I'm in the early stages of shedding my skin."

Greg punched her throw pillow. "What am I going to do without you? You're my Grissom. My prettier, less condescending Grissom."

She'd never been anyone's mentor before, and she was surprised that hearing she was a good teacher meant more to her than when he'd complimented her CSI skills. "I'll miss you, too, Greg."

"You'll write?"

"Absolutely. Whenever possible."

"You'll send me stuff?"

"If I see anything in Bosnia that screams 'Greg,' it's yours."

Greg gave her pillow another half-hearted punch. "So, you're thinking you'll be sent to Eastern Europe?"

"The war left a lot of unmarked graves. A lot of victims who deserve a name and a proper burial." Sara shrugged. "It's definitely a possibility. But so is Southeast Asia, Africa, some parts of the Middle East, South America. Crimes against humanity are a global epidemic."

He frowned. "But…you'll be safe. Right? They wouldn't send you somewhere you wouldn't be safe."

"Greg, I could go out on a case tonight and be shot. I could have died in that car accident. Or in the desert."

"I get it. There is no safe place. Still, you better write with some regularity. Or I'll be worried." He paused. "And I won't be the only one."

She went into the kitchen for a bottle of water, but also to temporarily hide. His words had hit her harder than she let on. She hadn't expected her announcement that she was leaving to have a lot of impact. When she'd left San Francisco to come to Vegas, she'd gotten a card with a few hasty signatures and no personal messages. No one had ever so much as emailed to see how she was doing in her new job. She hadn't minded. Roots were something she'd never let herself put down. If she'd known she was putting them down in Vegas, she might have been more inclined to leave years ago.

Sara took a deep breath to compose herself. She grabbed the water, to keep up pretenses, and went back into the main room. Greg was flipping through her Victoria's Secret catalog.

"The order form is missing," he said in his best detective's voice. "Interesting…"

She laughed, and for a split second, she changed her mind. But the moment quickly passed.

* * *

Callie Lamb was a slender woman with mousy brown hair that she wore in a style Grissom hadn't seen since 1985. She sat on one side of the metal table, her hands folded in front of her, looking serene. Behind the one-way glass, Grissom studied her. 

She didn't look capable of attempted murder, but then some of the worst criminals he'd ever encountered seemed perfectly innocuous upon first glance. First impressions were just that. Impressions. Nothing more than glimpses.

As if she could see through the glass, Callie lifted her head and stared straight in his direction. Grissom suddenly took a step back.

"You okay?" Nick asked, looking over at him.

He nodded slowly. "There's nothing more startling than looking into someone's eyes…and seeing nothing."

"Except maybe seeing too much." Brass passed by, nodding at them as he entered the room. "Here we go," Nick said quietly.

Brass wasn't big on formalities or pleasantries, especially with people who might have hurt someone he cared about. As soon as he sat down, he launched into his questions. "I'm Captain Brass. This is all being taped. Do you need something to drink? No? Okay. Were you at Lawton Forbes' house one week ago?"

He didn't faze her. "I'm at his house a lot. I'm his secretary."

"Was there anything different that day?" Brass shrugged. "An unexpected visitor?"

"Just his latest groupie."

"Groupie?"

She sighed, as though she were dealing with a child. "I know he can't help being so attractive. But these women just throw themselves at him. It's pathetic."

"And who was this latest groupie?"

"Sara…something. The whole group thing is supposed to be anonymous." Callie leaned forward. "You know, she was different. When she first showed up, I didn't figure her for the groupie type. But she turned out to be just like all the others."

"Is that why you knocked her out, tied her up and dumped her in the desert?"

Grissom was so caught up waiting for the woman's reply, that he didn't even notice the man passing by him and Nick on his way into the room until he had already entered, interrupting the interrogation.

"Taylor from days," Nick said for Grissom's benefit. "Primary on Sara's case."

"I know."

Inside the room, Taylor pulled Brass aside and whispered something to him. A moment later, Brass sat back down with a strange little smile.

"You know, I love CSI's. Hell, if I'd done a little better in science class, I might've thought about becoming one, instead of being a cop. The thing I love about them? They never give up. So, they didn't find any prints on their first try. Well, try and try again." Brass paused. "You were raped ten years ago, weren't you?"

Callie's eye twitched ever so slightly. "Excuse me?"

"You were a cashier at the Tangiers…coming home from work one night…the guy was never caught. Now, usually I wouldn't bring this up, but the fact that you worked at a casino interests me. You have a work card, which means we've got you in our system." He grinned. "Can you tell me why CSI Taylor found your fingerprints in Sara Sidle's car?"

"I love this moment," Nick murmured. "When you bury 'em with the evidence and they can't find a way back out."

Callie lowered her eyes for a minute. When she looked back up, any mirth or self-satisfaction was gone. And there was nothing but cold, calculating rage. This was a woman who could kill.

"Because I drove her to the desert." She paused. "But I wasn't alone."

"Who was with you?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. Aren't you going to ask me why?"

"I think I already know why," Brass said. "No one likes competition."

"You don't understand."

"What's to understand? You've got the hots for the guy; he has his groupies. Makes sense to me."

Callie's eyes narrowed. "I was raped. Ten years ago, I was the one who needed counseling."

"Let me guess. Dr. Lawton Forbes 'counseled' you."

"You make it sound tawdry." She shook her head. "It wasn't. We fell in love."

Brass pointed at her. "You fell in love. He just likes his women vulnerable." There was another pause. "Let me fill in the details. Eventually, he got tired of you. Threw you over for a new model."

"Maybe so." She lifted her chin. "But are any of them still with him? No. I was smarter than them."

"If you couldn't be his lover, why not be his assistant?" Brass's voice got serious. "Maybe the reason some of them aren't with him anymore because you killed them? Like you tried to kill Sara."

"I'm not a monster, Captain Brass. If I'd had a choice, I wouldn't have killed anyone. But I'm Lawton's secretary. My job is to do what he wants me to do."

Grissom's hands lay in fists by his side. Nick noticed, but said nothing.

"Are you saying that the kidnapping and attempted murder of Sara Sidle was Dr. Forbes' idea?"

She smiled. "In the end, he wanted her gone just as much as I did. All she did was cause trouble with her connections to the police."

"What happened that day?"

Callie lifted her shoulders, bored. "She showed up, uninvited, I might add. Lawton was on his way back. I knew what he wanted to do, so I put the plan in motion. She'd only been unconscious for a few minutes when he arrived. I tied her up, blindfolded her and we put her in the back of her car. I drove the car; he took his."

"Why?"

"I needed a ride back after we dumped hers at the airport. That part was my idea." She smiled, as if remembering something pleasant. "He just wanted to see her all alone, surrounded by nothing but desert."

For the first time since the start of the interview, Grissom tore his eyes away from the window. He made a movement towards the door, but Nick caught his arm.

"Easy, Gris. We've got her."

Callie went on, undaunted. "It was her own fault."

"How do you figure that?"

"She was so desperate. I've seen some sad sisters in ten years, but she was the worst. She never talked much in group, so I can't say this for sure, but don't even think she wanted Lawton. He was just standing in for someone. An ex-flame. An unrequited lover." She tsked. "So sad."

"As opposed to becoming a man's secretary in order to keep him close?" Brass moved on, "Tell me about Julia Sommers. Another groupie?"

"Before we talk about her, I want a deal."

"Oh, I don't make deals," Brass informed her. "But if your information pans out, maybe the D.A. will be nice and forgo the needle in favor of life behind bars. For now, you're under arrest. Enjoy central holding."

Taylor and Brass left the room and joined Nick and Grissom. "I'll get the arrest warrant for Forbes immediately," Brass said.

"He'll deny it all," Grissom mused, his tone dark. "She's got nothing to lose, but he has everything."

"Forensically speaking, there's nothing tying him to Sidle's case," Taylor said. "We'll haul his car into CSI, but she said Sara wasn't in it. There won't be anything linking him to the scene. Any trace on the car can be explained by living in the desert."

Nick thought for a second. "Unless you can isolate some unique property in the sand where Sara was left; that could put him at the scene."

Taylor nodded. "I'll check it myself."

"I want to be there when you interrogate Forbes."

"Gil." Brass contemplated this, then gave up without a fight. "Fine. Maybe you can rattle him, get him to confess." He glanced at his watch. "I want this guy in by lunch, booked by dinner. Let's get to it."

* * *

Sara hadn't expected a response to her online application for days. So she was nothing short of shocked to find that she had mail only hours after Greg had left to get some sleep before his shift. She took a moment before pulling up the email. 

Her eyes scanned the message quickly and by the time she was done, she was grinning from ear to ear, and then wincing as the smile pulled at her sunburned skin.

"Dear Ms. Sidle," she read aloud, under her breath, as if to assure herself that her first read-through hadn't been a dream. "Congratulations, your application to IFFS has been reviewed and accepted. Your credentials speak for themselves, and after a personal interview, we look forward to welcoming you to our international network of dedicated crime scene scientists."

The email went on to outline the details about the interview. Sara saved the message and sat back in her chair, staring at her laptop's screen in wonder. This was the final confirmation that her life was about to change. It was thrilling. And terrifying.

There was so much to do. Sublease her apartment, put in her notice to Ecklie, pack and store her things, say goodbye to everyone. To Grissom. But all that would come later.

Sara walked to the kitchen and treated herself to a beer. She raised the bottle into the air in a solitary toast.

"To moving on."

* * *

On the advice of his lawyer, Lawton went to the station on his own accord. Grissom was ready for him. Even though Brass insisted on being in the room, it was going to be Grissom's show. 

He waited, silent, as Lawton took a seat. If not for the lawyer, the two men might have stared each other to death.

"You'd better have more than a single pubic hair, Mr. Grissom," the lawyer said. "Or we will be filing harassment charges all around. One for everyone."

Leaned back in his chair, with one arm on the table, his palm pressed flat against the manila case folder, Grissom never looked away from Forbes. "Tell me something. Is it a sickness or just a fetish…that compels you to take advantage of vulnerable women, Dr. Forbes?"

"He doesn't have to answer that," the lawyer interjected.

In the far corner of the room, Brass smirked. "He will, though."

It was like Brass and the lawyer didn't exist. And the only conversation was between them. Lawton took his time answering Grissom's question. "Do you have a type? Let me guess. Intelligent. Somewhat emotionally withdrawn. Tall, but not taller than you. Blonde, maybe?" He paused. "We all have a type, Dr. Grissom. I like a woman who needs me. Is that a crime?"

"It is when you kill them."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Callie Lamb rolled over on you," Grissom said, evenly. "We know everything."

"I'm sorry. I really don't have any idea what you're talking about."

He opened the file that lay between them. "Would you like a copy of her statement? Or should I just paraphrase?"

"I'll take a copy." The lawyer snatched it up and started scanning the pages.

"It doesn't matter what Callie said or didn't say. She's a good secretary, hard-working and loyal. But frankly, she's not entirely stable."

Grissom arched an eyebrow. "I thought you liked your woman weak. Like Julia Sommers?" All he got was a look. "What did happen the day Sara Sidle was abducted and left to die in the desert?"

"I heard about it on the news. Absolutely terrible. I'm so very glad Sara is all right. I intend to send her flowers. What kind do you think she'd like?"

"Let's stick to the subject at hand," Grissom hastily said. "What I want to know is, what part did you play in putting her there?"

"None," Lawton answered, clearly and calmly.

"So you didn't help Callie Lamb drive Sara out into the Wildlife Refuge? You didn't leave her there? You didn't give Callie Lamb a ride back from the airport after dumping Sara's car? It wasn't your idea to get rid of her…in the same manner you got rid of Julia Sommers?"

Lawton leaned forward. "I had no idea Julia was even dead until you showed up at the center that night and told me." He spread his hands over the table. "I cared about Julia. And I care about Sara." He paused. "These women come to me scared…violated…afraid to trust anyone, ever again. And I help them. I show them that there is life beyond their trauma. That they're not less of a woman for having survived such an ordeal." He looked straight at Grissom. "If that's a crime, it's the only one I'm guilty of."

For the first time since the interview started, Grissom glanced at Brass. His friend shook his head, almost disappointed. It was one person's word against another's. Never an ideal situation when the evidence was practically non-existent.

Lawton's lawyer looked up from his copy of Callie's statement. "You haven't got a shred of physical evidence tying my client to this crime, do you? All you have is the ramblings of a woman with a personal vendetta against him." He shook his head. "All this time you've spent trying to pin this on him, when you could have been building a stronger case against the real killer."

Holding his hand up to quiet his lawyer, Lawton went on. "I won't file charges against you, Dr. Grissom. Even though you seem determined to smear my name without any proof that I've done anything to deserve it. But I will ask you to be lenient with Callie. If she is responsible for Sara and Julia, then I feel responsible for her."

"You are," Grissom glared at him as he stood to go. "You knew she was in love with you…and you kept her hanging for years." His voice faltered for a second, then steadied. "This isn't the end of our investigation." Lawton and his lawyer kept on walking out the door.

Brass ran his hand down his chin, then inspected his palm. "Is this egg on my face? Feels like it."

"Usually by this point, I have a gut feeling about a suspect. I might not always be right, but I've got something. But him?" Grissom shook his head. "Nothing."

"Exactly what we started out with. And ended up with," Brass added. He sighed. "There's no way to know, is there? Who's lying and who's telling the truth?"

"Maybe not," Grissom mused, his brow furred in concentration. After a few seconds had passed, he looked up at Brass, like a cartoon light bulb had lit up over his head. "Then again…maybe there is."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: To follow.

* * *

Giving Up 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Tell us, Ms. Sidle, why are you interested in IFFS?" 

The question, posed by one interviewer on a panel of three, momentarily stumped Sara. Up until that point, the interview had been one of the best of her life.

She'd woken up that morning to her usual self. The whole, disgusting peeling process that followed any severe sunburn was finished and after a week and a half of constant rest, she was rejuvenated. Ready to take on anything, to show anyone who cared that Sara Sidle was getting on with her life, starting with the IFFS interviewers.

In her best blue suit, she'd chatted with the interviewers, all of them seasoned crime scene analysts, listened to their careful explanations of the program, everything from compensation to personal insurance, and gone over her résumé in great detail. They'd seemed impressed that she'd been hand-picked by Dr. Gil Grissom to work in Vegas. All she'd been able to do was smile and tell them, honestly, that it had been an educational six years.

But this question was different. They weren't asking about her proficiency in facial reconstruction or trace identification. It was a personal question that demanded a personal answer. She knew what that answer was. But she also knew it wasn't what they wanted to hear.

The three interviewers exchanged looks as she contemplated the question. One of them went on, "We ask because this job is unlike anything a criminalist trained in America has ever seen before, outside of journals and textbooks. When we're selecting program applicants, we know that they can handle one body, two bodies, maybe even a dozen bodies at a time. But in our work, we deal with death on a grander scale. It's nothing for one of our teams to uncover a grave containing five hundred bodies. We need to know that our people can handle it. And the only way we can assure that is if we know why they want to do this. It has to be for the right reasons. So, Ms. Sidle, what are yours?"

Sara took a final second to think, then gave her answer.

* * *

"To Sara! She might be leaving our city, but she's not leaving our hearts." With one hand over his, Greg lifted his beer high. "Keep her safe, keep her happy, and bring her home soon. To Sara!" 

The group clustered around him echoed in kind. "To Sara!"

Unable to sip her own drink for fear the lump in her throat might cause her to choke, Sara merely watched the toast with misty eyes. It was the first one ever dedicated to her.

Catherine slipped up beside her, nudging her slightly with her elbow. "You okay?"

Blinking, Sara nodded. "Sure. Thanks." She cleared her throat. "And thanks for hosting this. It's…overwhelming."

"Mi casa is everyone's casa," the older woman replied. "But if Greg goes overboard and pukes on my carpet, mi casa will be his deathbed." Handing Sara her martini, Catherine went after him, to stop the young CSI from popping open a fresh one.

Now with two glasses in her hands, Sara wandered through the living room, taking in the fact that this party was for her. Everyone had been invited and most everyone had come; in addition to the obvious, Warrick, Nick, Greg, Catherine, Brass, Doc Robbins and his wife, she recognized Judy the receptionist, Taylor, Jackie the fingerprint guru, Hodges, Buddy the DNA guy, Archie, David and his new bride, Bobby, the sweet guy from QD whose name she couldn't quite recall, Vega, Vartann, a few more detectives she'd worked with over the years.

There was only one person missing.

* * *

I still recall the words you said to me 

It's what you did not say that sets me free

Now how can I find peace of mind when you keep coming back again?

It's not okay for you to play this game of seesaw with my head

Now it hurts too much

And it hits too hard

And I won't play this part

* * *

The last time she'd seen Grissom had been three days before the party. She'd been back at work for a week, but bound to the lab by Ecklie's orders. He already had her resignation on his desk; if she didn't process any evidence on new cases, she'd never have to testify. Surprisingly enough, she didn't mind. There was a lot of work to do, wrapping up her time at the LVPD. And she didn't even have a desk to clear out. 

It was dawn by the time she called it a night and on her way out, she passed by Grissom's office. He was inside, of course, pouring over a case file with such intensity that he didn't even realize she was standing in his open doorway until she said his name.

He looked up, fixing his blue stare on her. But he said nothing, waiting for her to go on.

"I'm heading out," she'd said, keeping her voice neutral. A second passed. "What are you working on?"

"A case."

"Oh. Well…good luck." She lingered for another few seconds. "Grissom," she started again. "I have an interview with IFFS later today."

He readjusted his glasses like he always did when he needed a moment to process something. "They're a good group. They do important work."

"I think so." Sara threaded her fingers together tightly. "Any pre-interview words of advice?"

Grissom considered this. "Wear your blue suit." He looked back down at his work.

She blinked once, then twice. "What?"

Glancing up again, he simply said, "It looks good on you."

It took her awhile to regain her sense of balance. Was he doing again? Reeling her in, only to let her dangle on the hook? She wouldn't let him do it. Not again. "You are…unbelievable." Shaking her head continuously, Sara had backed up, out of the doorway. "See you later."

* * *

"Penny for your thoughts." Nick snapped her out of her reverie, bringing her back to the party. He smiled at her around the hideous moustache he'd decided to grow over the past week. 

"Do you like my blue suit?" Sara blurted out.

"Blue suit…blue suit…oh, the one with the skirt!" He grinned, almost dreamily. "Yeah. It's nice."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Grow up."

"Yes ma'am." Nodding at the two glasses, he continued, "Having a good time, are we?"

"Catherine's," she clarified, setting down the martini glass. "She doesn't have to work later. Or get up early in the morning."

"That's right. You're leaving on a jet plane tomorrow." His moustache drooped as he frowned. "Do you have any idea how much you're gonna be missed around here?"

She hadn't until that night. "'No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth.' Robert Southey."

"I see Grissom's quote-disease is spreading."

The mention of his name put out a fire in Sara's eyes. "I guess it's easier to let poets and philosophers talk for you."

Taking her arm, Nick guided her to a corner of the living room, where they were out of hearing range. "Sara, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied. "I got accepted into IFFS. I'm leaving for London tomorrow. My career is taking off. Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"You tell me."

"Well." She gave him a cool look. "I wouldn't mind being told something about my own attempted murder investigation. Apparently, mum's the word around me. There's even password protection on the computer files."

Nick sighed. "I'm sorry. We figured it would be better…to protect you."

"Contrary to what recent events might imply, I am not a damsel in distress," she told him in a harsh whisper. "I can handle it, Nick."

"Okay. Well, the truth is, the investigation is ongoing. Callie Lamb is behind bars, but there are…complications. I swear, Sara, I wish I could say more, but I don't even know all that much myself."

He was lying and she knew it and he knew she knew it, but Sara let it go. For the moment. "I want to be kept informed from now on. I'll have limited access to a phone or the internet, but I will have a mailing address. I assume you still know how to write an actual letter?"

"You mean, with paper?" She gave him a glare. "You have my word." Nick looked down at the carpet for a few, long seconds. "Sara, there's something I've needed to say to you for awhile. It's not easy…but I need you to forgive me."

"For what?"

"For Kevin." He turned his gaze up to the ceiling. "If I'd had any idea he was capable of treating a woman the way he treated you, I never would have…"

"Nick." Sara put a soft hand on his arm, forcing him to look her in the eye. "It wasn't your fault. I made my own choices, and they were bad ones. I won't let you blame yourself for them."

Nick shook his head. "I just wish there was something I could do."

"There is." She smiled, her eyes twinkling like they hadn't in years. "Shave off that disgusting thing on your upper lip."

Laughing softly, she left him standing by the wall, one hand over his 'stache.

In the middle of the living room, Catherine accosted her, a fresh martini in her hand. "I am never one to bring a good time to a close, but a few people here have a shift starting in a couple of hours. I think it's time to say…you know…"

"Goodbye?" Sara nodded reluctantly. "All right. I'm ready."

"Attention! Everyone!" Catherine waved the group into quiet. "Go ahead," she urged Sara once everyone was paying attention.

Suddenly, Sara wished she had something stronger than club soda. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at her friends. "I just want to thank you all for rearranging your schedules to be here. It means a lot to me. More than you can know." She caught Greg's eye and his encouraging nod helped her go on. "When I came to Las Vegas, I thought I'd be lucky if I met one or two people worth knowing outside of work. And somehow, I ended up with a lot of friends, good friends, who I am honored to know outside of work. Of course, that makes leaving so much harder." She smiled down into her glass. "Thank you all for coming. I'll miss…" Sara bit her lip and looked up. So many familiar faces…but all she wanted to see was the one that wasn't there. "I'll miss you. All of you." Her emotions finally got the best of her, and she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm not big on speeches."

"We'll miss you too, Sara!" Bobby called out. Light laughter broke out, followed by a smattering of applause.

Blushing, Sara smiled shyly. She felt two arms wrap around her, Nick on one side, Warrick on the other. Greg came up behind her, hugging her around the middle and resting his chin on her shoulder. Catherine snapped a picture quickly.

And for one of the rare instances in her life, Sara Sidle felt loved.

* * *

So now I say the things I want to say 

Sometimes it's better letting go this way

I'll always know

Down in my soul

We really had so far to go

I've given all I had to give

And now it's time for me to live

And I won't look back

And I won't regret

Though it hurts like hell

Someday I will forget

* * *

Later that night, after all of the partygoers had gone into work, or home for more sleep before work, she returned to her practically empty apartment for the last time. 

Her furniture remained, part of the deal she'd worked out with the person who would be subleasing the place while she was gone, but all of her personal things, her books, her pictures, her mementos, were locked away in a storage facility. All she was taking to London were two suitcases, her laptop, and the gifts she'd been given that night.

The gifts had surprised her. They were nothing expensive, save for the gold locket Nick and Warrick had teamed up to purchase for her. They were mostly reminders of certain events, or gag gifts, but they had all touched her deeply. The thought certainly did count, although she might not have access to a grinder in order to make use of Greg's pound of expensive coffee beans, or ever have use for the Play-Dough Archie had given her. "Never forget to play," he'd said, in explanation of his present. Actually, she might have use for that someday. The old Sara had enjoyed such whimsy.

Shrugging out of her coat, Sara left the box of gifts on the kitchen counter and, by sheer force of habit, opened the fridge, looking for something to drink. It was empty; she'd finished off the last of her perishables that afternoon.

But she was restless, and a drive to the 24-hour supermarket would at least keep her busy. Sara put her coat back on and headed to the door with her keys. She opened it and came face to face with Grissom.

His hair was disheveled, liked he'd been running his fingers through it, something she'd only seen him do on occasion, when a case really got to him. He looked like he needed about a week of sleep. She wanted to laugh at herself. He'd hurt her so much that night, and yet still…all she could think about was his well-being.

"Sara." His voice wrapped around her name like no one else's could. "Can I come in?"

She wanted to say no and to close the door his face. But she couldn't. He was Grissom. Stepping back, she waited for him to enter and close the door behind him. He could come in, but she'd be damned before she'd welcome him with open arms.

"I've got news," Grissom said after a few minutes of awkward stares and silence. "You were right."

"I was right? About what?"

With his hands in his pockets, Grissom took a step towards her. "Callie Lamb has been claiming that Dr. Forbes planned and participated in the crimes against you and Julia Sommers. And until tonight, we haven't been able to prove or disprove that."

"So?" she prompted.

From inside his pocket, Grissom withdrew her cell phone, her desert savior. It was encased in a plastic evidence bag. "Your pictures, Sara. They prove that there was only one car at the scene. One set of tracks. Callie's claim that Lawton drove his car out into the desert with her is false. I did some checking, too. While you were unconscious, being driven out to the Refuge…Lawton Forbes was checking into a local motel with a woman named Andrea Hansen."

"Andrea," Sara breathed. "From the group."

"He didn't murder Julia. And he didn't try to murder you. Without your pictures, we might never have known." His smile was proud. "You did it, Sara. You broke the case. And you were right all along. Forbes isn't a murderer."

"Yeah." Her tone turned cold. "But you were right all along, too. He is a disgusting bastard."

She started to walk away, leaving Grissom perplexed. "Sara…"

"Thanks for keeping me up-to-date," she said, turning back around. "It'll be nice to leave tomorrow with some sense of closure." A shadow fell over his face. "You do remember, right? That I'm leaving?"

"I remember."

"I wasn't sure. Because you clearly forgot about the going-away party, so I figured you might have let the actual going-away thing slip, too."

Grissom tucked the cell phone back into his pocket. Another minute passed before he looked up. "I'm sorry. I should have been there."

"There are a lot of things you should have done, Grissom." She felt a tear tumble down her cheek, unbidden, but unstoppable. "And maybe there are things I should have done, too. What does that leave us with? A pile of unused chances, missed opportunities?" Sara shook her head. "But…I tried. I know that deep down, I tried. Can you say the same?"

"Where you're concerned, I've always tried." He cleared his throat. "Tried to deny. Tried to forget. Tried to distract myself. Tried to push away. And when I finally decided to try something new…I was too late."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I wouldn't." Grissom took another step toward her. He smelled of the lab, not a bad thing. Grissom and the lab, the two great loves of her life. "Honey…"

"Why do you only call me that when something bad is happening?" she asked for a second time. He'd never really answered before.

He frowned. "Something bad is happening?"

"I'm leaving." Sara let out a breath. "Well, I guess that says something. If you don't think that my absence will be a bad thing, then…"

Before she could finish, Grissom covered the distance between them. He took her face between his hands and kissed her. His mouth was as hot as she remembered, but this time he made no demands. He loved her lips with his, turning her knees in ballistic gelatin.

Grissom'shands buried themselves in her fragrant locks, like they'd always itched to do. As they kissed, he pulled her even closer, thrilled when her hands tentatively rested on his shoulders. She tasted like chocolate, a decadent dessert that he'd finally given in to. Now that he knew the flavor of her mouth, he'd never be able to get enough.

They broke apart at the same time, desperate for air. Sara ran her tongue over her lips, surprised at how quickly she'd become hooked on the feeling of his tongue doing the same.

Grissom spoke first. "Don't go," he pleaded. His forehead touched hers, his eyes closed. "Don't leave. Please. You're needed…so much."

"By you? Or just the lab?"

"Me, Sara. Damnit…it's always been me."

"That's the problem. This isn't about you anymore. It's about me." She closed her own eyes, her lashes wet against her cheeks. "I have to go," she whispered. "You have to let me go."

"What if I can't?"

Thinking back to the answer she'd given the IFFS interviewers, Sara replied, "I have to find the Sara Sidle who came to Vegas six years ago. I lost her somewhere along the way. And this is the only way I know to find her again."

His forehead still rested against hers, neither one of them ready to pull away just yet. "When you do find her…" Grissom stroked her cheek with trembling fingers. "…will you come back?"

She smiled through her tears. "That depends." Drawing back slightly, Sara lifted her chin and kissed his brow. "If the same Gil Grissom asks me to…no. But if an older, wiser man does, then I just might." He opened her eyes to see her. "I've always had a thing for older men."

He left her apartment a few minutes later, after one last, lingering kiss.

And the next morning, she left Las Vegas on a 767, bound for London.

* * *

Don't call me 

Don't write

Don't show up in the middle of the night

You know that

We needed

Some time and space to breathe in

And this is letting go...

- Sozzi, "Letting Go"

* * *

Fini. And yet... 

Author's Notes: This is the end of "Giving Up" as I imagined it when I started the story almost a year ago. But I do plan to continue it in a sequel entitled "Letting Go," if anyone wants me to. Actually, I'll write it anyways, but it'd be cool if one or two people read it;) Thanks for all the reviews on this story; I've had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you've had half as much fun reading it.

Kristen Elizabeth

11/14/05


End file.
